As Is
by lena1987
Summary: Complete. Six years after the end of the war, Hermione Granger returns to England with one thing in mind: the dreams she has had each night since finding her Professor in the Shrieking Shack. Severus Snape does not wish to be found - but perhaps he can make an exception. HG/SS. AU. M for later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these wonderful characters, and I am very thankful for it, as I can throw them together in the loveliest of ways.

 **Rating:** M.

 **Author's Note:** I promised readers of 'Hints and Whispers' that a longer story would be forthcoming, and here we are. It is not related to anything else, and carries quite a different tone to it, but I hope that you will enjoy it all the same. I will aim to update weekly at least, and can promise that no chapter will ever be as short as this prologue, but in my defence, it is, after all, a prologue ;-) You all know my guilty pleasure for including lyrics in chapters, so feel free to send recs my way if you have more HG/SS songs that might fit this story.

Welcome back, readers. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Prologue**

But I dropped my head, 'cause it felt like lead,

And I'm sure I felt your fingers through my hair…

 _Missy Higgins_

.

 **2004 - Sydney, Australia**

"Hermione? Hermione… come back now, Hermione… open your eyes. _Hermione!_ You silly, silly woman – wake up, let me tell you just how stupid you were, coming back for me… Hermione - _please!_ Beautiful, foolish girl…"

~0~

She awoke with a gasp that tore its way out of her chest, past her thudding heart and through her dry throat. Frantic, Hermione laid her shaking hands flat on her chest, feeling her own body and surroundings, grounding herself in the familiar singlet and sleep shorts, soft cotton sheets and thin tangled blanket. The room was dark but the fan still worked on the ceiling above her with a comforting dull buzz, pushing the hot, humid air around the small space until it was almost bearable.

Sinking slowly back onto the pillow, pausing once to flip it over before resting her head of wild curls onto the now cool surface, Hermione counted her breaths. The first deep breath was always to reassure herself; she was here, in her bed, unharmed. The second breath: no one was here to threaten her, no wand was pointed at her, no lights were flashing towards her. The third: Severus Snape was alive, and so was she.

 _Professor Snape…_ She rolled over onto her side, staring out at the nothingness of the dark room. Nightmares of him had interrupted her sleep for five full years. There seemed to be no escaping the visions of bright scarlet blood seeping from his pale white throat, nor of the fading pulse under her fingers when she'd wrapped her arms around his still form and rocked him like a child, until common sense made her charm him _just so,_ keeping him light enough to bear. And when Poppy Pomfrey had commanded her with a voice louder than his screams, Hermione had still not relinquished her hold, staying entwined with him on the bed while the Healer bustled around them.

And wasn't that a funny thing?

That after all the years of insulting comments, some enough to send her from his classroom in tears, she was there with him at the end, smoothing back his hair and pressing kisses to his forehead, begging that he would just _live._ Because of all people, Severus Snape should not have had to be alone – not after all that he had done.

Going back for his body had nearly killed her. She hadn't waited long enough after the end of the battle, just ran for the Shack as soon as it seemed that they'd have a chance, and her body had been struck with enough curses that by the time she reached him, her strength was draining so rapidly that using her wand long enough to move him had left her motionless in the Hospital wing long after he'd awoken. Still, it seemed fitting – he had sacrificed the most, he had _lost_ himself, and it was all for them. To keep them safe. He was the bravest man she had ever known. Was… or is? Hermione ran a hand over her mouth, struck for what felt like the thousandth time with the _lack_ of knowledge – where was he now? Was he even alive?

With a sigh, Hermione rolled onto her back and pressed damp palms to her forehead, willing herself back to sleep. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't; but on this night, she had the memory of his low, velvet voice in her ear, calling her, guiding her, and it was easy to cling onto the soothing tones and close her eyes just long enough to…

Sleep.

~0~

"Mum?"

Her voice rang out through the house as she opened the front door, pausing to stick her neck into the front sitting room, and then continuing down the long hallway to the back of the house, following the muffled answer.

Her parents lived in a small two bedroom terrace house in the eastern suburbs of Sydney, adjacent to their dental practice. They'd had two years without her, and when she'd finally managed to track them down to the ends of the earth of all places, none of them wanted her to leave. So she stayed.

Hermione's own flat was on the other side of the city, as close to the water as she could afford, which meant that it was a tiny place, just large enough for her most important books. Her feet would often carry her to her mother and father; the thrill of seeing them whenever she wanted, without risk, without fear, had never worn off.

Today, though, the thrill was tempered somewhat. Severus' voice had haunted her steps from the moment she'd woken again and stumbled into the shower. Apparating to the small apothecary where she was working was made that much harder when he was calling her to 'come back, come back now - sweet, silly girl…' and as soon as the _Tempus_ had struck five, she was running down tree lined streets to the only safe haven that she could count on. It was all too much – hearing his voice now, in her mind, after all of these years… Merlin, it _hurt._

Clutching her stomach, Hermione made it into the kitchen and sunk into a stool at the bench, resting her head on her folded arms. She brushed off the concerns of her mother, pleading tiredness and work, but still his voice was in her ear, pleading over and over again.

"Hermione? Did you hear what I said?"

"What?" she mumbled, shaking her head. "No. Sorry, mum."

Jean smiled softly and shrugged, still beautiful in a plain type of way, not unlike her daughter. Her darker hair was shorter than Hermione's, more tameable and presentable, but the older woman's brown, sharp eyes missed nothing. "You're far away, aren't you?"

Hermione winced, conscious that her mother knew her better than most and said honestly, "Very far. At Hogwarts, it seems. Quite far from here…"

"Ah." Her mother tapped her shoulder then sat down on the stool on the other side of the bench. When her own small hands reached out to curl around Hermione's arm, the younger witch knew that she had missed something that was quite possibly monumental. Her body was tingling with it, tasting the atmosphere in the room.

"I said," her mother said slowly, drawing out the words as she trained her eyes on her daughter's face, measuring her reaction, "that your father and I think that it is time."

"Time for what?" Hermione was breathless with confusion and anticipation. And truly - for what? What did she even _want_ , that her body would be reacting in such a way?

Jean smiled again and then her small mouth, lined with wrinkles from the last ten years, formed the words that had Hermione's heart stopping and starting like a dying engine, and the deep voice of the Professor in her ears reaching a crescendo until it broke over her in rolling waves.

"It's time to go home. For all of us – us three. We want to go home again, Hermione; and we want you to come with us."


	2. Chapter 1: Time

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these wonderful characters, and I am very thankful for it, as I can throw them together in the loveliest of ways.

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed the story thus far. How wonderful to see some familiar faces and some new ones! Note the year change - we're almost twelve months after the prologue. We're all ready for a bit o' a slow burn, yes? But not _too_ slow, eh? This chapter's a bit short, but true to my word, it's longer than the prologue ;-) Never fear – the action kicks off in the next chapter.

'No man is an island' – John Donne.

A note on the locations – everything can be googled, everything can be seen, but I've intentionally not mentioned a specific place for Severus apart from the County. The man likes his privacy, after all.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Time**

They're going to want to analyse me

Canonise and demonise me

Buy the rights and serialise me

Moralise and sermonise against me.

 _Paul Kelly_

.

 **2005 – Low Head, Australia**

 _Hermione,_

 _When are you coming home? Your parents arrived ten months ago!_

 _Harry_

 _/ /_

 _Harry,_

 _Your talent for writing long missives is simply astounding._

 _I'm sitting on a beach on the coast of Tasmania, watching tiny little penguins walk their way across the sand. I'll be home soon, but it is an enchanting sight. There are a few more things I want to see yet. Give Ginny (and Ron, if he wants it) my love. How is James? Tell him Aunty Hermy (and if you call me that yourself, I'll hex you six ways from Sunday) has a little penguin for him._

 _How far along is Ginny now? Have you thought of a name yet?_

 _Really, I'll be home soon. My next task is to Apparate 'across the pond' – if you paid attention to my last letter, you'll know where I mean. Wish me luck._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione._

 _/ /_

 _Hermione,_

 _Right, sorry. I do remember you saying that… we all miss you, though. Even Ron (don't make that face, he_ _does_ _). I passed the message onto James – he is excited as Ginny will be once you assure us that the penguin is not actually alive. It isn't, is it?_

 _Ginny is four months along – he's already kicking! No names yet, though I'll be sure to tell you when she's decided and I've inevitably agreed._

 _Across the pond… across the pond… just a minute._

 _New Zealand! You'll be proud – I turned on the computer and searched, just how you instructed last year._

 _I meant it when I said that we all miss you. The Order meets every six months. Everybody comes – everybody always asks when you're returning home to us. I hope that I can give them a date next time._

 _Love,_

 _Harry._

 _/ /_

 _Harry,_

 _The penguin is of the soft and cuddly variety – i.e., not alive. I did learn from the howler Ginny sent after the blue tongue lizard fiasco._

 _New Zealand is fantastic. Have picked up some lovely wool for Molly along with a few spare for Ginny, in case hell hath frozen over and she's picked up knitting. Who is 'everybody'?_

 _H._

 _/ /_

 _Hermione,_

 _Well, everyone mostly, with the exception of Snape. I'm sure he also misses you… in his own way._

 _Harry._

 _/ /_

 _Harry,_

 _When did you last see_ _Professor_ _Snape?_

 _H._

 _/ /_

 _Hermione,_

 _Why?_

 _H._

 _/ /_

 _Harry,_

 _It's a good thing we have this charmed notebook, or else your owl would have been rather indignant to come all of this way just for a one word letter. I, also, am feeling quite annoyed at receiving it. But anyway – just curious. I've been wondering how he has been faring._

 _Between you and I, I keep dreaming of finding him after the battle… he did so much for us, Harry… it doesn't seem right to not know where he is, or if he's even alive. I want to thank him – but I also just want to see him. Perhaps it would help with the dreams, or perhaps it would just close the file for good, so to speak. I don't really know what I want, but I know you'll understand when I say that we can't just let go of him, not after all that he's done._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione._

 _/ /_

 _Hermione,_

 _Sorry for the delay, I had a look around for you._

 _I know. I do understand… I do. I will help you, if I can. But I don't think that he wants to be found._

 _Anyway, your guess is as good as mine. I last saw him at the first Order meeting five months after his trial – you were searching for your parents by then. It seemed like he just came to get out of any of the others. He did pass on his thanks for what you said at his trial, but you already knew that. The truth is that no one has heard from him since. I suspect McGonagall knows where he is, but no one else has had any word. Spinner's End is vacant… I went over last year and left a letter. I don't know what I was expecting, but nothing eventuated anyway._

 _As for whether he is alive today? I had a look after work last night and the wards are still up at his home. So – yes, still alive._

 _Love,_

 _Harry._

 _/ /_

 _Harry,_

 _Coming home in a week._

 _Hermione._

~0~

 **2005 – County Galway, Ireland**

"Professor? Can you hear me? It's going to be all right, Professor… Oh, if you can hear me you'll be terribly angry, but I'll take the liberty anyway: wake up, _Severus!_ Can you hear me? _Severus_?"

~0~

Hunching his shoulders, Severus stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and continued walking down the street. The low voice had been running through his mind since he'd woken in the morning, flailing and sweating. It was always the same – and it was always her, speaking into his ear as she held him in the Shrieking Shack, and then when she stayed by him on the narrow hospital bed, even while Poppy ordered her away. He had _always_ dreamt of her. Sometimes it was her calling him back, trying to soothe him; sometimes it was _his_ voice as, in turn, he'd stayed as long as could be called appropriate when she'd inevitably lost consciousness after the ordeal she'd faced just to retrieve his body. Severus still didn't know what was more surprising – that after so many years he was still dreaming of her and the feel of her lips on his forehead, or that she had returned to the Shack and helped to nurse him back to health in the first place.

Hermione Granger. Not even a vial of extra strength Dreamless Sleep was enough to stop her anguished voice calling out his name, every damn night since he'd last seen her. And it should have been enough – it should _be_ enough, considering he had not seen one wink of the witch in years.

It was with a long resigned sigh that he bent his head as he walked against the wind, nodding shortly as greetings were called out, raising a hand every now and then. For a moment he wished that his hair was long enough to hide his face again, but it wouldn't particularly matter in the end; this was his home, now. Well, not here, exactly – this small town was close to his home, to be sure, but it was far too populated for Severus' liking.

Still - he had a home.

And no dream, not even if it had been bothering him for almost five years since he'd last seen the young, wild haired woman defending him to her last breath at his trial, was worth losing that. Not when it had taken him all of his long life thus far to find it. He could be selfish now, and he was bloody well going to do so.

Forty five years of Severus Snape's life had been spent alive. If he thought about it - truly thought and spent time on it - he could pinpoint exactly when everything had changed; the moment when he could begin to breakdown his five hundred and forty months on earth, give or take a few. Birth was the obvious answer, but for Severus, whose childhood was nothing to write home about, it was something different – or rather, _someone._

Lily… beautiful, trusting Lily. Even now just thinking her name had him exhaling with a forceful breath, knowing that at sixteen he'd cocked it all up so much that it'd been the turning point from childhood to… what? Not adulthood… perhaps simply _being._ Sixteen years of living a quiet, largely lonesome, sometimes abusive, life. Then three years of internal hell, followed by twenty years of… nothingness. No Lily, no solid, truthful friendships, no life to speak of unless it was forged by his own hands. With permission from those who held the leads to his collar, of course.

And then it had all ended. Severus still couldn't quite believe that it was _over._ The spying, the double life, the years of living in constant darkness; mistrusted, skirted around, spoken about in hushed voices. The silence of those years was so damn _loud_ that as soon as his obligations to those he had formed relationships with (McGonagall and… that was probably it) had been finalised, he'd packed everything up and left England, not wishing to spend one more minute in the country where he was being plastered over front pages. One day he was the 'Dark Saviour', the 'Dark Horse', or, to his annoyance, 'Dumbledore's Secret Weapon'. The next he was the 'last single warrior', the 'brooding wizard, biding his time until the perfect witch sweeps him off his broom'.

Severus thought that those ideas could just fuck right off. With that in mind, he huffed and continued on his way.

Scratching at the short black beard that covered the lower half of his face, he pulled the neck of his coat up higher – unbidden, a thought came to him that his old robes would be welcome here instead of the dark jeans, jumper and thick black coat; robes fared better in the early morning winter chill. He brushed it off as he sprung lightly up the steps to the wharf, heading over to where the rest of the early morning risers were congregating around the first few boats to come in, haggling. He threw himself into it with gusto, barking out prices and surprising himself by even laughing once or twice, then turned on his heel with his bag of cod and mackerel, and walked back to the point that was safe enough for him to Disapparate. It was a short walk away from the wharf; not short in general, but short for one used to stalking around Hogwarts for hours on end each day.

It took him ten minutes to walk the stone streets, past the rows of pale white houses, restraining a roll of his eyes each time he passed a bright blue or yellow painted home. A tad ridiculous, in his eyes (sweet Merlin, there was even a _pink_ one), but the village had barely batted an eyelid when he'd arrived four years ago, windswept and stern, and now he had to hurry to make it to the curve at the end of the road before he could be invited in for tea or for a Guinness later on; at forty four, Severus had been taken under the wings of the entire population. Which wasn't much – a hundred or so – but it was still quite an unsettling thing, if not entirely unwelcome.

Disregarding magical propriety, he pushed his legs forward with an unnatural burst of speed when he saw the baker's door beginning to inch open, and soon enough he was at the curve of the road, away from the houses, staring at rolling green fields, dotted with livestock. With one last look at the landscape that had enchanted him in the first place, he turned, and was gone.

~0~

Home for Severus was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in many, many years. It still made his breath catch when he appeared behind the sessile oaktree at the end of the lane; the stillness of it all in the early morning fog, the _peace._ He checked the closed front gate, kicking his foot against it in a time honoured male tradition of simply feeling an object to test its strength, then began to walk.

There were no other homes in the immediate vicinity – the closest was his landlord's, perched precariously on the faraway cliffs near the lighthouse. He couldn't even _see_ Conan, though, when he walked outside. Sometimes he caught a blur of the burly man, but Severus was still fairly thin and wiry, so it was safe to say that Conan, on the other hand, could certainly not see him. And so it was almost like being on his own little island.

"' _No man is an island'_ ," he quoted to himself with a wry smirk that carried none of the weight that it used to at Hogwarts. Severus _was_ an island; and he loved it.

Severus' island began at the gate, then the long walk down the lane, long flattened by car tyres, not that he had one. Grass was threatening to grow over the tracks again, so he flicked his wand and neatened it all up, before continuing on down the path that wound around the trees, before eventually coming to his stone cottage that was surrounded by a proudly made wall with wildflowers poking out in the gaps.

The cottage was a small, two level home – three, if you counted the potions lab he'd conjured himself in the makeshift basement. It faced the sea, but wasn't on the cliffs; it was just far back enough that he could see the expanse of blue from his kitchen window, then anchor himself with the green grass moving with the wind on the land before it. Severus did not particularly like the water – he could not swim, he could thank his parents for that – though he enjoyed the quietness of it all, the roaring waves that moved with the wind, bringing the smell of sea salt through his windows when he left them open in the summer.

Just in time, he jogged with the bag of fish past the back of the house to reach the front with the wooden door painted a peeling white, ducking his head and stepping inside as the rain began to beat down.

Humming to himself, Severus waved a hand and warmed the cottage as he twisted and turned to get out of the coat, dropping it around the back of one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire. As was his wont, he cast a critical eye over the sitting room, nodding to himself when he saw that nothing had changed; the bookcases still towered over him, taking over the space so that there was only enough for the two chairs and one battered couch. Still, his mouth twitched with an _almost_ smile when he made his way into the little kitchen with its cupboards painted sky blue as he noticed that, as usual, his spelled black coffee was ready and waiting near the sink. A quick check of the wards after that, then Severus shoved the fish into the fridge, grabbed his cup and tapped the bench twice to turn the music on, before padding downstairs with bare feet to the basement.

Perhaps today would be the day that he would make the potion that would finally succeed in having him dream of nothingness, rather than the wild haired Hermione Granger.


	3. Chapter 2: Conversations

**Disclaimer:** the usual. Poor me. No owning of these two.

 **A/N:** As promised, here's a longer chapter to really kick things off. If you recognise anything said by the verbally gifted Ginny, you can thank Absolutely Fabulous. And if you don't know what that is, then I'll be sorely tempted to chuck an Imperius on you and direct you to youtube. Go on, darlings, go and witness the beauty that is Ab Fab.

As an Aussie, I say gumboots. Brits say wellies, I think. No idea what Americans say – so, diplomatically, I've gone with rain boots. Just thought I'd pass on that vital piece of info.

One thing that's been running through my mind is grammar, of all things. I grew up (am rather ancient compared to some of the younglings 'round here) writing Severus' but it seems that Severus's is more common these days. So I shall go with Severus', even though it makes my eye twitch each time I write it. That's how much I love you all. On that note, I much prefer to use Severus over Snape. That's just like Hermione going "Hi Potter, how are you?" – a bit off, eh? So, Severus it is. Plus I like how it rolls off the tongue. Say it with me.

 _Editing to add -_ Severus' it is! Ha! Old style education prevails, thank you my friends! Phew. I shall adjust this chapter.

Some fun notes:

Bushmills – Irish whiskey. Standing Hampton – erection.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Conversations**

She's somewhere in the city with a glass of wine in her hands  
This great big city with a lowdown sorry man  
 _Paul Kelly_

.

 **2005 – County Galway, Ireland**

Every Sunday, Severus' hulk of a landlord, Conan, would stop by in the early afternoon with a bottle of Bushmills tucked under his arm. Conan was a widower, with three children and had one grandchild so far that Severus often noticed stomping around in muddy puddles. Severus was still a man that favoured spending time either on his own or with only a small amount of people if he could help it, but Conan's weekly visits had come to be a welcome addition to his very relaxed routine.

Weekdays saw Severus rising early and pulling on rain boots before trudging around the paddocks on his side of Conan's farm, counting the animals and checking the fences. He always took various vials with him, having developed the habit of making potions for the larger animals; if someone had asked him twenty years ago whether he thought he'd ever be tipping blue liquid to ease labour pains down a horse's throat, he'd have gladly told them to sod off. And yet, he had found himself doing such a thing at least twelve times over the years. Not to mention the cows.

It was therapeutic – the animals could not talk and so they could not complain (although Severus had indeed begun to discern the various sounds made by the beasts, they were immeasurably better than some of the words that came out of student's mouths in the Hospital wing of Hogwarts). And he could work to his heart's content, and never have to be bothered by hovering superiors inspecting his work.

That was not to say that Conan was not the type to inspect his work; in fact it was only due to Severus' own ethics that he hadn't Obliviated the man yet. He was far too curious. The younger man could certainly understand that, given there had been such a drastic reduction in the amount of dead livestock since the Potions Master had taken up residence in the old cottage – and far be it from him to lie outright. After so many years of biding his tongue, Severus was eager to tell Conan only a slightly adjusted version of the truth; that he was talented with brewing natural little concoctions for himself and a distant relative of his was a veterinarian (codswallop, that was) which was how he'd learnt to apply his remedies on certain types of livestock.

Conan seemed to realise that the story was mostly a load of shite, as the burly grey haired man had cocked an eyebrow that almost reached the mop of curls on top of his head. But Severus' judgement of his landlord's character had been proved right when the man simply shrugged and clapped him on the back, then said he'd charge him less each month in exchange for some extra help around the farm. It was certainly no hardship to accept such an arrangement; thanks to his upbringing, Severus' pockets were tighter than the lid on a bottle of Guinness, but it was more than that. It meant that at forty five, Severus had two things to his name – a home (his written lease said that he was free to stay until he carked it, in those exact words) and a (with the term applied loosely) occupation.

In the afternoons and evenings, he had the luxury of dividing his time between walks through the village (sometimes even Galway city if he was feeling particularly adventurous), potion making and reading. He still brewed for Hogwarts, having developed a spell that meant he only had to flick his wand and the vials would be sitting on Minerva's desk or Poppy's store room, but it was no small thing to dive into new research and apply his own recipes to animals rather than humans. And Severus was never one to back down from a challenge, not when it was dressed up in the Irish countryside that still left his eyes fit to bust when he walked out of his front door each morning.

This Sunday was no different – he'd cooked himself up a roast for lunch and was already sitting in front of his home, half enveloped by the canvas of the folding blue deckchair. Conan thought he dragged them out on Sundays for their comfort, but truth be told Severus transfigured them each week from old pot plants that had died years before he crossed the threshold. The temperamental Irish weather meant that, more often than not, the chairs were bypassed in favour of the wingbacks in front of the fire out of the almost constant rain, but this particular afternoon was heralded by blue skies and a light wind; he didn't even need to wear his coat over his grey woollen jumper. Not all habits were as easily discarded, though, as his black rain boots were stuffed into old dark blue jeans in case of a last minute shower.

After sharing the obligatory greeting and dancing around each other (Conan pretended that he had a pretext for visiting, Severus pretended that he preferred to be on his own), the two men settled back down into the chairs, facing the sea and nursing a tumbler each. Severus was feeling slightly miffed by the older man's politeness, something that was very out of character. It usually only took one sip of whiskey before his landlord was off on a tangent with words that would make a prison inmate blush to his bollocks, but for once he was staring resolutely towards the water and thinking very hard about the conversation he was about to have. It took all of Severus' considerable restraint not to dive into his mind and have a look at whatever had the man all riled up, but the words soon came tumbling out anyway and were enough to have him choke on the burning liquor that was halfway down his throat.

" _What?"_ he spluttered, wiping his mouth and trying to brush off the mix of indignation and embarrassment that was currently working its way through his stomach.

"I said," Conan began again, coughing to cover his own trepidation at even raising the subject, "that you ought t' think about findin' yourself a girl one of these days."

"A girl? How old do you think I am?"

"Don't give me that, son. I'm tellin' you now, at your age, if you don't start soon then you'll be up shite creek without a paddle. You'll be like me!"

Severus rolled his eyes and downed the rest of the whiskey. "I won't be. You have a family – I have no intention of having such a thing."

"Gobshite!" Conan hurled back, though he didn't pause in refilling the younger man's glass. "It's just what you need – you're too lonely up here. A little one lookin' like you and callin' ya 'Da' is just what you need. Plus a Ma for it, a good woman will set you straight. Don't look at me like that!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus exhaled in a forceful breath. Conan was the closest thing he had to a friend – perhaps he really _was_ a friend, but that didn't mean that he wished to have a conversation like this when he had barely managed to even get aroused for the last five years because of the dreams that had haunted him. Nightmares of dying each night with only a student to comfort him were not conducive to waking up with a standing Hampton.

"It is the last thing I need. I cannot think of anything worse than a 'little one' that takes after me. It'd be a fucking disaster," he said eventually; he meant every single word.

It wasn't that he didn't like children – it would surprise almost every student that'd passed through the ostentatious doors of Hogwarts, but Severus did not actually mind teaching. He enjoyed the odd spark of interest on a child's face, and he could really be hard pressed to describe something more enjoyable than teaching N.E.W.T. level potions. What he _was_ averse to, however, was passing on the Snape genes to any child unlucky enough to be born of his seed. He was telling the truth when he said it would be a fucking disaster and he had no desire to put that on any innocent child. While he may have had a pleasant past five years in Ireland, he would be a fool to think that the name of Severus Snape would be thought of in a good light – any child of his would have the same stigma attached to him and would more than likely suffer the same bullying that he did.

"Oh, feck off then," Conan grumbled, and then abruptly changed tactics. "Tell me then, son – how long's it been since you've… you know…"

"Since I've _what?_ " Severus managed to spit out, torn between howling with laughter and storming off in a snit.

"Since you've… you've… oh, feck it all," the man threw his hands up. "Since you've been with a woman!"

Howling with laughter won out and for the first time in years, Severus laughed until he had tears on his cheeks. It only set him off more when Conan finished his drink and stormed off, bellowing some of his favourite curses into the wind. This was familiar ground – not the asking about sex, of course, but the arguments and angry leave takings. Despite the swearing and far too personal topic of conversation, the two would be drinking again next Sunday with nothing to show for their earlier row.

And if Severus noticed that Conan began to bring his eldest daughter around, a divorced woman in her late thirties with short blonde hair and soft curves that triggered something (only a something, try as he might Severus couldn't even make himself conjure up more than a flicker of interest) in him, then neither tenant nor landlord said a word. If anything, it simply pushed him to try and be as polite as possible, even if his heart wasn't wholly in it – by now he knew the value of good company and found a light enjoyment in the father-daughter banter. Conan made a point of saying one evening after Maebh had left that he did not wish for anything to occur between the two, because Severus would make a terrible son in law and his daughter was far above the younger man's deserts (he had the strange impression that Conan was jesting, but Severus preferred to take the words at face value) but that it wouldn't hurt the wizard to at least _talk_ to a woman for once.

They continued on in this way for four more weeks; father, daughter, and Severus sharing Sunday afternoon drinks, until Conan began leaving earlier with half hearted excuses about this and that, and Severus was left alone to try and make conversation.

Maebh was a pretty woman, he supposed… another man might even have said that she was beautiful. Her blue eyes followed him and she had laugh lines around her mouth that came with a sense of humour that did pique his interest more than once. And Severus had a pleasant time with her, even if he couldn't help but feel that something was missing… not that he would say anything. It could have been because she was a Muggle, although since the War ended, he wasn't the type of man to even blink at such a relationship. It was more than likely that any problem with their chemistry was on his behalf, as any idiot would be able to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman – it seemed that he was just, as usual, the exception to that rule. Although he didn't have the heart to deny himself the pleasure of her company – she was a quiet yet happy woman, and he became used to her presence. He didn't consider her anything more than a friend, but it was no small thing that his social circle had doubled.

It went on that way for more weeks than he cared to count, until two things happened on the same afternoon. The first was that Maebh kissed his cheek shyly when she left, an act that left him staring at the ground like a second year then touching the skin that her lips had touched after she'd gone, wondering why he _wasn't_ reacting to it.

But then his skin _had_ tingled – but it wasn't due to Maebh's kiss.

Severus darted inside as soon as the woman was out of his sight, and honed in on the bodily reaction that was his wards alerting him that someone was attempting to 'visit' (never mind that he never had visitors) his old house in Spinner's End. That alone wasn't enough to send him straight back to the bottle of whiskey and his canvas chair; but the alert that it was Hermione Granger was enough to have him almost wishing for a smoke again.

He lasted like that for three days, alternating between craving a cigarette and pacing, wondering what he should do with the newfound knowledge that the woman he'd dreamt about for five years had suddenly come back into his life. Well, not quite come into – she'd knocked on the door, so to speak, and it was up to him whether or not anything would eventuate further. He had absolutely no desire to see her, nor strike up any form of friendship or companionship with the girl who had dropped off the face of the earth (or rather, England) years ago, but there was the underlying hope that perhaps he could finally get rid of the dreams that were becoming more of a nuisance than anything else.

He wanted peace and quiet, and he wanted to leave the war behind. With that in mind, four days after knowing that Hermione was back in England and seemingly wishing to speak with him, he scowled and headed to his desk in the sitting room, quill and parchment at the ready as he tried to decide what on earth to write.

~0~

 **Cokeworth**

Hermione didn't quite know what she wanted to get out of visiting Spinner's End. It was clear from the outset, however, that nothing was to come of it. The wards of the house were almost as complex as the work that had been done on Hogwarts, once it had been safely renovated. But there were subtle differences – where Hogwarts was warded yet still gave off a welcoming (if strong) reception, Spinner's End was quite the opposite.

She didn't know how long it'd been since Snape had set foot on his own doorstep, but the neighbourhood wasn't as bad as she'd been led to expect. The houses all looked the same and there was a distinct smell coming from the nearby dirty river – there was no charm about the drab industrial uniformity, to be sure, but Hermione had taken a wrong turn in London the other day and Cokeworth was, in her view, preferable to some of the areas she'd had to drive through.

That being said, Hermione had lost the naivety that had carried her through her final years at Hogwarts, and she was no fool – front doors could hide all manner of things and the place was too quiet for her liking. She didn't pity Snape for having a house (not a home – a house) in such an area, nor did she feel any change to her curiosity surrounding the man, for it was clear to all that the Professor would have despised being pitied for such a thing as his hometown. Why else would he bother to ward the place to look as if it had been abandoned?

It obviously hadn't been, even if the man had never returned. It didn't escape her notice that others might simply take one look at the house and walk away, as the first layer of spells was designed to encourage, but if Hermione was anything at all, then she was an inquisitive woman. Wherever Severus Snape had gone, he'd still managed to set enough spells that there was no grime on the window panes of the front door, and, unlike other houses, the exterior was lighter somehow, as if he'd charmed it to take on a little less of the dust from the factories.

Hermione walked around the house set on the corner, staring up at the dark coloured bricks. The curtains were shut and the impression given by the wards was unmistakeable – no one was home, no one would _be_ home, but it was owned and any intruder should be damn well aware that their bollocks would be hexed off if they even attempted to override the magic protecting it.

Speaking her last thought out loud in a low, silky voice, Hermione had to snort with wry laughter. Why had she even entertained the idea that coming to Spinner's End would reveal something about Professor Snape? All it had done was notify him that she'd visited (of that, she had no doubt at all) and she got back into her car and drove off, none the wiser.

~0~

 **London**

A week later, Hermione was stretched over one of the soft, comfortable couches inside number 12 Grimmauld Place. The smell of scrambled eggs hung around the sitting room and James was sitting on the floor near her feet, his chubby little hands reaching for the plush book that she was levitating just out of reach.

"Keep at it, Hermione," Ginny called from the kitchen, her high thin voice accompanied by the whistle of the kettle. "You're doing a fine job. Perfect."

Hermione looked at the not-quite toddler and arched an eyebrow. "A fine job, eh James? Do you think so?"

On cue, James squeaked and clapped his hands together, leaving his unofficial Aunt to smile with easy happiness.

"You really are doing a good job with him. You're a natural," Ginny said as she breezed into the room, her swollen stomach preceding her and a tea tray following mid-air behind her. Hermione stuck her tongue out at James when Ginny turned around to sit, then fixed her friend with an innocent grin.

"Me? A natural? You were just berating me only yesterday for being single!"

Ginny waved a hand in the air and shrugged before handing her a cup of tea. "Not berating you, darling, there's a difference between loving advice and berating."

"Does your mother know that your idea of loving advice is that you'll slip a love potion into the drink of the next passably handsome man that you happen to come across?"

"Ha!" Ginny winked, bending to gather James up and into her lap. "That's what you need, though! You never did tell me what you got up to in Australia… I've heard only good things about the fine male specimens down under."

Choking on her still too hot tea, Hermione covered her mouth and tried to tone down a very ungraceful squawk of laughter. She failed miserably.

"Ginny!"

"What?" her friend said with a miffed look. "I'm married, not blind."

"No, certainly not blind," Hermione replied with a smirk. "In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you don't even _need_ those sunglasses you wear outside. I don't think you're short sighted at all. I think you just want to have a good old perve!"

"You're a miserable little turnip, Aunty Hermy," Ginny shot back as she settled James back on the floor with the penguin from Tasmania. "You wouldn't know a 'perve' if it smacked you and sent you A over T."

"A over T? Oh –" Hermione's voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "Have we forgotten silencing charms, Ginny dearest?" Whipping out her wand, she cast a quick spell. "You were saying?"

Both women were giggling into their teas, revelling in the chance to talk properly for the first time since Hermione had arrived a week ago. It had coincided with some rare days off for Harry, and the conversations had been very tame compared to what was in store for the older witch now that Ginny had free rein to speak as she wished.

"Arse over tits," the redhead said with a nod of her head, eyeing James to be sure the silencing charm was still in place. "Exactly right. Really, Hermione, you need to let loose! Those years in Australia have been very good for you, anyone can see that-"

"Wait, what? Good how? I was miserable for at least one of those years, you know," Hermione said with a sniff, remembering how difficult it had been not to lose heart when it had taken so long to find her parents. It should have placated her, to know that her memory spell worked so well, but it was more than difficult to deal with at the time.

"Well, you look better for it," Ginny said decisively. "You do! You've got a tan, and your hair's lighter. You look… _exotic!_ Yes, that's it. Exotic."

"Exotic?" Hermione repeated and looked down at her normal outfit of jeans and a jumper then curled her lip in such a solid imitation of Professor Snape that Ginny blinked and needed a moment to recover.

"Exotic – yes! Like a rare bird. Or an insect."

"Like a rare insect? I look like an insect?"

"No!" Ginny scolded in between gulps of her tea. "No, not at all… a good insect, if you wanted to be an insect of course, but my point was that you are looking well. Snape certainly won't be complaining," she added with a sly grin, causing Hermione to spit out her mouthful of tea.

"What? What are you going on about?" she said finally after she'd managed to wipe all of the tea off her chin. "I'm not bloody seeing _Professor_ Snape anytime soon, so don't you go getting any ideas!"

"Do you think you can fool me, Hermione? Really? After all of this time, you think you can fool me? You've got your teeth into something, and I'll bet that there're no other eligible wizards that live in _Cokeworth._ "

"Oh, bugger off Ginny!" Hermione grumbled with a scowl. Surely she wasn't that obvious? Not that it even was _about_ that – Merlin, she hadn't seen the man for over five years! Was it so strange that she would want to have a simple conversation with the man to ascertain that he was well after his suffering in the Shack and then the ridiculous trial afterwards? "I went for research purposes! The man _despises_ me!"

Hermione added her last words with a triumphant nod. There, that should do it; Harry had let the subject drop immediately after she'd reminded him of the Professor's colourful teaching methods, though it seemed that Ginny wasn't about to let that stop her. She should have known better, especially after catching a glimpse of an old clipping from the Daily Prophet that listed Severus Snape as one of the top five eligible bachelors in all of Wizarding Europe. Obviously the writer had never even met the man, not that he was around to be met. Harry reckoned that they _had_ met him somewhere along the line – it was the perfect revenge for a disgruntled ex student.

"Research purposes? Is that what they're calling it now?" Ginny rolled her eyes, then leaned over with a mischievous smirk on her thin pink lips. "If we're _researching,_ then let's have _Severus_ read our source material – in that silky, velvety voice… whispering it into our ears…"

"Stop! Gods, stop!" Hermione clapped her hands over her ears and shook her head. "No. No! You're bloody bonkers, Ginny Potter!"

A tapping at the window had both women whipping around in their seats, jumping off the couch in surprise as they took in the unfamiliar owl staring at them sedately from the perch.

"Who do you know that owns a _black_ owl, Ginny?" asked Hermione curiously, already edging over to the window. "They're one in a million."

Ginny shrugged again and shot her a puzzled look that changed to a smirk that wouldn't have been out of place on Rita Skeeter as she carefully took the letter from the regal looking bird and put a small bowl of treats on the windowsill; it was obvious that the bird was required to wait for a reply.

"I think you're asking the wrong person," Ginny said slowly and slid the envelope over the coffee table to Hermione's waiting hands. "It's for you."

"For me?" Hermione took another look at the mysterious owl then stared down at the back of the envelope. She usually prided herself on being a level headed woman, somewhat easily distracted but sensible most of the time. Never would she have picked herself out as a person to have the wind knocked out of them by the sight of her name written in a very familiar and very _identifiable_ black spidery hand on the front of the thin cover.

"It's from _him_ ," she said breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes away from the envelope. "Oh, God – Ginny he knows I've been to Spinner's End!"

"Of course he does!" Ginny hissed impatiently. "Just open it, for Merlin's sake. Put me out of my misery!"

"How did he even know where to find me?"

"You say that as if he had any other options. For all he knows, your parents are still in Australia," Ginny said matter-of-factly with her hands spread. Well, that was true enough.

Swearing under her breath, Hermione slid her finger under the seal and pulled out a single small square of parchment, then almost immediately let it drop back down to the coffee table as the sudden onset of sheer embarrassment and intrigue flooded through her. It was only moments before she snatched it up again though, and read it a second time – and then a third, and a fourth, when it was yanked out of her hands by a very impatient Weasley.

Ginny was the picture of smugness when she whistled between her teeth and pressed her lips together with a very self-satisfied look. Hermione knew that her visit to Spinner's End would come up somehow, but she had been content with thinking it'd be years before she saw Severus Snape again. Apparently not.

' _Something to say, Miss Granger?_

 _SS.'_


	4. Chapter 3: Restart

**Disclaimer:** the same, as per usual. Bugger.

 **A/N:** I should say now that I've written enough angst in my time, and you might have noticed that this story thus far has a lighter tone to it than others I've done. That's very intentional, so do not go A over T if you notice a fair whack of humour and/or Ginny's pregnant hormones taking stage in this chapter. There will be a bit of angst given the pairing we're dealing with, but nothing too heavy. Perhaps that might make these two lean towards OOC, but perhaps not. My personal view is that the idea that the characters will stay the same after a major war is bollocks, so let's have a bit of humour, shall we?

Also, I have a new laptop hence the few days between chapters. It's a gorgeous thing, but bloody tiny and much more techy than this old girl is used to. 'Scuse any mistakes - the screen is 11 inches, need I say more? *squints*

ananxiousreader - hello lovely! Possibly 10 chapters? I'd love to be able to reply properly - have you got a username thingy so I can message you? In fact, I wish everyone had usernames because I really wanted to write to you Angelus and make a Slytherin-esque innuendo about salivating. Cough.

From the spike in reviews for the last chapter, dare I say that you are all quite ready for some proper interaction between these two? Hmm. Well, I was going to have a bit of correspondence but Severus has a mind of his own ;-) You'll notice a lack of place names, now, as I trust that you all remember where they are after a few chapters of reminders heh heh.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Restart**

Mean old levee, taught me to weep and moan

It's got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home

 _Led Zeppelin_

 _._

"Dear Professor; thank you for taking the time to write to me. As it happens, I do have something to say-"

"Oh, yes," Hermione nodded eagerly. "That's good, Ginny - a bit too direct for me, though, but we can work on it. What else?"

Ginny's innocent smile should have been more than enough of a warning, but the older witch's head was bent over the parchment as she tried to formulate a reply and thus missed it completely. The Weasley took a deep breath in and continued, barely able to keep the sly tone from her voice.

"I do have something to say – there is something that I require your assistance on. It is a personal matter, and one that I would greatly appreciate some advice about. If you have the time, perhaps we could meet and discuss it? This coming Saturday would be fine for me, 7 o'clock, the location being between my thighs-"

Hermione mouthed the words as she wrote them down, then squawked indignantly. "Ginny!" A quick glance to James in his highchair painting his face with avocado showed the boy was none the wiser, and she turned back to her friend, her cheeks a furious shade of red. "I'm not bloody well writing that!"

"You should," said Ginny, utterly unrepentant. "He's the only man that could ever match your intellect and interests, and besides, you need a good shag. You really, _really_ do."

"And you say this with the _physical evidence_ of your own far more satisfactory love life quite literally sitting here in my face."

Unperturbed, Ginny rubbed a laughingly smug hand over her belly and shot her son, now managing to eat a few mouthfuls, a fond smile.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione tossed the pen aside for the moment and tossed the still waiting black owl an apologetic grimace. It was no use – no matter what she wrote, nothing seemed to quite convey what she actually wanted. Which wasn't helped by the fact that she wasn't particularly _sure_ what she wanted in the first place. Closure, for one, of course, but surely she could put on a brave face and have a chat to one of the Healers at St. Mungos instead of chasing down one of the most difficult men she'd ever encountered in her life.

Hermione also wanted to simply _see_ the aforementioned difficult man, which was possibly (probably) something that was never going to occur. If Severus Snape had not set foot anywhere near Hogwarts for the last five years, then there was no likelihood of him just 'popping by' for a visit. And would he even want to see her? She had no excuse bar the nightmares that filled her mind every night, and she wasn't about to detail those on parchment when she hadn't seen him in years.

The nightmares themselves were not even particularly bothersome to her – yes, she woke from them regularly, but they were so engrained into her life that it had become somewhat acceptable to dream of the dying man. That being said, if anyone could rid her of them, the man himself could.

There was also the sense that Professor Snape would not wish to receive demands from her – no, if anything, he would toss any letter that contained the word 'want' into the fire. At least, that was what she would do in his situation. To be honest, Hermione could remember at least three letters that had been immediately incinerated while she was living in Australia; one from Ron, the two others being invitations to Ministry events. Her opinion on the Ministry hadn't changed, at least - they were more than welcome to simply sod off. Ron, on the other hand... she sighed and turned her mind back to the Professor.

Voicing her thoughts aloud, Hermione tapped her index finger on her thighs as she mulled it over.

"I mean really," she said slowly, "I found him, tried to heal him myself, botched it up, took him back to Poppy, then didn't let him go until he was stable! He probably thinks of me as the same basket case that I was then."

Ginny shook her head and pushed a fresh cup of tea towards her waiting hands. "Rubbish. You are unequivocally wrong about that, Hermione. We both know that he stayed with you when you lost consciousness – he did not leave your side, not even when Madame Pomfrey threatened to glue his bollocks to the chair. Do you really think that he thinks that way about you? I don't even think he's said or written one word to anyone in England except for McGonagall, Pomfrey and now… you."

Hermione snorted into her cup of tea, glad for the large rimmed cup that hid most of her blush. She did remember the episode with the glue; at the time, she'd been so mortified at Professor Snape seeing her in such a state for so long that she'd barely been able to look at him after she woke up. Even six years later, it still brought a flush of shame hurtling through her to imagine the man, barely recovering from his own life threatening injuries, sitting at her bedside. It had taken four days for her to wake after spending the best part of eight days before that cemented to his body. She had clung to his hand like it was her life support – when Poppy asked every few hours _why,_ she couldn't even answer.

Now, Hermione understood that it was pure shock after seeing him in such a state, but there was no reasonable explanation she could give as to why the Professor, who had done so much _for_ them but also _to_ them, was the one that she found herself unable to leave. It could've been Ron (perhaps it should've been), or anyone, really. But after everything, all of the years he'd spent fighting, it was to end for him like that? On the floor of a dirty old shack? There was no fucking way she _wouldn't_ have gone back for him. It could have been that her emotions were all over the place, and they were… she had her suspicions that his injury was simply the last straw.

"Do you know how long I stayed on his bed for?" she asked Ginny quietly, not wanting to go any further but not knowing how else to say just how torn up she was about the whole thing. Ginny shook her head.

"Over a week," Hermione admitted with a wince. "In the end, Poppy enlarged it and began to treat me, and Minerva had to resort to telling me that she'd owl Rita Skeeter and tell her that I was looking to hook my talons into yet another victim. That was the only thing that got me to stop holding his hand. Do you really think that any man would want to see a woman _that_ crazy?"

"None of us were in our right minds," Ginny reminded her sternly. She was silent for a long moment and Hermione squeezed her hand as she watched her friend's face fall into a pensive expression, signifying that she was thinking over how she'd slept with her mother every night for weeks after Fred's funeral. Shaking her head minutely, the redhead shrugged. "Harry barely said a word for months, remember? It took Auror training to really get his head back on his shoulders. Even now, he's asking for another child and then another and another, so James has a tribe around him and doesn't ever have to be alone. And Ron _still_ immerses himself in work or women or both. I don't even know the last time I've seen him completely sober outside of work hours, Hermione. No one, and I mean _no one,_ thinks anything at all of what happened with you both after you found him."

Hermione only realised she'd begun to cry when Ginny silently handed her a tissue, and she rubbed her face to clear her cheeks. Every word was true – there was no one who had been left unaffected. Short of returning to Australia, where even there the community had had losses, there was no denying that in England she would be faced with daily reminders of the war. Glancing down at her scarred arm, the word 'mudblood' still clear, she nodded in agreement.

"You're right, of course. I know you are. You know…" she broke off and swallowed, "I'm still having the same dreams."

"The same? The same dreams?" Ginny frowned, raking a hand through her straight hair. "The same ones you mentioned _four years ago?_ "

Hermione nodded again, avoiding Ginny's persistent gaze. "The same ones."

"Then that settles it, doesn't it?"

"Settles what?"

"Grab your pen – don't give me that look, I know you prefer them over quills. Grab the pen."

It was with relief that Hermione smiled and gathered her writing utensils again, listening to Ginny's suggestions and rewording them in her mind. And when she looked at the neat words on the parchment, her resolve strengthened and she folded it up, handed the owl another treat and carefully attached the letter to its leg.

~0~

Severus was prepared to throw the note in the fire; his wand had coaxed the flames to roar even as Moonshadow sailed in smoothly through the open window. At least he'd intentionally forgotten to include any details of the black owl in his missive to her - Miss Granger never need know that his bird was named after a Cat Stevens song, after all.

He stared at the writing for a long time, not even reading it, just familiarising himself with the curve of her 'a's and the old fashioned way she wrote the 'p' in Snape. An image popped into his mind of the young, bushy haired first year, obsessively labelling each of her workbooks in her archaic cursive and judging by the letter in his hands, she'd kept up the style of writing long after her school years. Suppressing a chuckle, he left the short letter on the kitchen bench, went to make a coffee then sat back down by the fire.

Was there a reason why he had written to Granger, of all people? He didn't owe her a life debt, though he had expected to. In fact, for the first time in his life, Severus did not owe anyone anything. _Perhaps it was that_ , he mused... He had no obligation to write to her, there was no one breathing down his neck to force him to make contact. He had made the decision on his own time, purely to establish some form of connection with the witch that had saved his life and almost lost hers in the process. And it may surprise her if she was ever made aware of it somehow, but for all his faults, he liked to think that he was a man of honour. Corresponding with her, if she wished it (which apparently she did, judging by the speed of her reply), was a drop in the ocean compared to things he had been forced to do in his life. He could allow himself this.

It was pleasant to have the distraction of thinking about someone other than himself. His years of looking inward had been needed, almost desperately so, but it was calming to ponder why she was still called Granger and not Weasley or Longbottom, or some other name that he would have to probably conjure up out of a pensieve, going by how little he knew (or cared to remember) about the current magical standing of her year mates. That being said, when he began to wonder why she wasn't even a Krum, he bent his head with renewed determination to focus on the actual letter.

" _Professor Snape_ ," the letter began, forcing another rueful chuckle out of his mouth almost immediately. He'd have to correct that. With a smirk, he conjured a red pen and made a neat slash through his title, unable to stop a snort when he pictured her inevitable indignation. She would get the message - he had not been a Professor for six years.

 _"Thank you for writing to me - and pass on my thanks to your beautiful owl. What an impression he made! I can't remember the last time I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a black owl."_

'Gods, she hasn't changed a bit!' he thought with an amused shake of his head. He made a mental note to procure some more treats for Moonshadow on his next trip into Dublin.

 _"I'll cut to the chase, Professor. I do not wish to disturb you, nor do I want to pester you - if you read this letter and throw it in the fire, I'll understand."_

Impertinent little chit!

 _"I would like to know if you are well, after all of these years. I find myself wondering from time to time how you are, perhaps more often than I should._

 _Regards,_

 _Hermione Granger."_

'More often than I should.'

"What the fuck does that mean? More often than she should..."

Severus downed his coffee, disregarding the burn to his tongue from drinking the still too hot liquid too quickly, and stalked out the front door. A quick fumbling in his pocket produced a cigarette and a Muggle lighter, and it was only when he was halfway through it did he begin to process his thoughts. Not that he had many thoughts, bar the one that was running through his head like the Hogwarts Express. That after six years, the woman (girl? Young woman? What was she now, anyway?) that had lived in his dreams was now about to haunt his waking hours, too.

Would he ever be granted reprieve? Was it not enough that he had left everything and everyone, giving himself the peace he desired but also making their decisions for them - that he would go, and they would not have to decide what to think about him? Oh, he had been to the ridiculous balls and occasions during the first few months after the end of the War, but as soon as Minerva had reluctantly agreed, he'd up and left for Ireland. Fuck the balls, fuck the occasions and fuck the whole sodding War. He did not wish to be a hero - not when he couldn't even sleep at night.

He took another long drag of the cigarette, staring out at the sea and waiting for the waves to take his thoughts away.

They did not.

Forcing out a sigh, he vanished the cigarette stub with a wave of his hand and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans before heading back inside, resigned to being honourable for one last time. He had backed himself into a corner, but there was certainly something to be said for it being a corner of his own making.

In the end it took him six days to make the decision. He took up smoking again, then gave it up twenty four hours later, and took to walking around Galway City in the last hours before dawn. He took Conan's daughter Maebh to a pub she wanted to try out in Oranmore, then promptly regretted it when the industrialised side of the town reminded him too much of Cokeworth. It was to her credit that she ended the evening earlier than she normally would, and when she kissed his cheek in farewell he turned his head and felt the softness of her lips on the corner of his mouth; he treasured the smile that followed, but still found himself woolgathering until the early morning hours, mulling over why he still didn't feel a thing. It could still be Lily, of course... the beautiful, red haired phantom of his youth who he had measured all women against until the fall of the Dark Lord. After the victory, reality set in and he was hit with the understanding that it wasn't _her,_ not his Lily; it was him. So he knew that at least it was his own butchered self that was the cause of it all.

Come Thursday evening, he was buggered and fell into bed with not a small amount of relief. The next morning, he spelled the first thing he found lying around, shrunk it, then tied it to Moonshadow's leg. He could only hope that Hermione Granger still had her wits about her, or else his direct method that was always welcome with Minerva and Poppy might just fail spectacularly.

And then he waited, thinking she might take a week or so before finding the time to take him up on his hesitant offer - not that he even knew what he was offering. A cup of tea at least; it was the British thing to do. He was completely unaware that he would be waiting a far shorter time than he expected.

~0~

"I've had enough for now, thank you," Hermione said politely, waving away the bottle of wine. Lavender shrugged and topped up her own glass, while Ginny made a 'tsk'ing sound under her breath.

"Let me live through you, Aunty Hermy," she said with a wicked grin. "It's not Friday afternoon if wine isn't involved!"

"Oh gods," Hermione moaned and let her head fall onto her arms that were folded on the table. "It's only been a week and I'm already buggered. Tell me why I opened the apothecary in the first place?"

"So I could pay my rent?" Lavender offered, drawing a sarcastic snort from Ginny.

"No," the redhead countered, "it's so you can put your brilliant mind to good use for a few good years, fill up some vaults at Gringotts, then retire with gold up to your eyeballs."

"Australia was so much easier," Hermione complained. "I had a flat, I didn't own the shop so at least I didn't have to do any paperwork, and I could research whenever I wanted. Now it's all my bloody responsibility. Although, Lavender, you never mentioned just how good you are at keeping the books. At least there's that taken care of."

Preening, Lavender shrugged her shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance. "What can I say? Working with a friend my own age has reminded me of how skilful I truly am. Gods, did either of you even _see_ my last boss?"

"Master Warnes? Never with my own eyes," Ginny said thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers in the air with a peeling laugh. "Merlin, he was in the papers wasn't he? He's that git that got caught trying to slip a love potion into McGonagall's fire whiskey!"

"No!" Hermione gasped then eagerly refilled her glass with a howling laugh. "Not McGonagall? Gods, she would've smelt it from five feet away! Did she string him up by his bollocks? Isn't he nigh on prehistoric? He must be fifty years her senior, at least."

"Fifty five," Lavender confirmed with a gurgle of laughter. "So, you can imagine that I wasn't working at my best level. It was a relief to have him fire me; I just couldn't do it myself. He was always so sad - even sadder after she transfigured his arse to have the face of a frog!"

"Well, at least I'm a slight improvement," Hermione said with an impish grin. "But really... I'm going to go home and sleep for the entire weekend, and then can we all talk about this on Monday? Ginny, can you come in?"

Ginny had invested a third of the cost of the business, and had elected to stay a silent partner. Not that there was anything silent about the youngest Weasley to begin with, but it was a relief for Hermione to have someone that was involved with her, yet still left her the reins.

"I can, but James'll have to come."

"Oh, bring him!" Lavender clapped her hands. "There's a corner of the shop that will look perfect once we transfigure a few cushions and rugs and toys. He'll love it. Anything too dangerous is kept on the higher shelves, anyway."

"Right, well that's agreed then. I need to work out how to be able to research coupled with dealing with everything in the shop," Hermione explained pensively, tapping her fingers on the wooden table in between mouthfuls of wine. "What we _really_ need is another set of hands - not on the floor, Lavender, don't give me that look - but someone to make the potions so I can divide my time between the Arithmancy side of things and research. It's all right for now, but there's going to be a point where we can't go any further, surely? Not without someone else's help."

"Draco is the only other one apart from you who has done his Mastery in Potions so far. Everyone else is either employed, rich enough to fart around and not work again or just plain unavailable..." Lavender winced. "I don't see him wanting to work with us. He'd be whining about 'sodding Gryffindors' all day."

"Not if he's being paid well," Ginny said shrewdly. "You forget that his family is only just getting by now. He doesn't have the money to be pretentious. And isn't he married now? I think he'd surprise us."

Hermione nodded slowly, then popped a square of chocolate into her mouth. "We don't have to make any decisions for a few months. I can brew and research for now while we're getting started, then we can revisit all of this once it all picks up."

"Good point," Lavender said with a nod, then cast a quick _tempus_. "So... it's officially six o'clock. Anyone for vodka?"

"I'm the only one in this room apart from you that can say yes," Hermione reminded her, shooting Ginny an apologetic smile, "but say yes I shall! Only one, please. I have to be able to Apparate without splinching myself. Half of my things are still in boxes above the shop and I should get started on pretending to unpack them."

"S'alright," Ginny said, patting her arm. "There are rooms in this house that haven't been opened in years and won't be until I can manage to find a time that I'm not either pregnant or breastfeeding."

"Which won't be happening for at least fifteen years," Lavender crowed, returning with two shot glasses. "Although I do envy you. I'd love a child. And a husband, I guess. But a child first."

"I don't think that that's what you intended to say," Hermione said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. "How much wine have you had?"

"Most of the bottle," Ginny put in with a wink. "Doesn't matter, you're both staying here tonight anyway. You can unpack tomorrow, Hermione. Take some time to relax tonight."

"Oh, I shall," she said vehemently, covering her gag at the harsh taste of the liquor with a cough. "I can almost feel the bath I'm planning on taking. I've got some extra bottles of the calming oil we made yesterday Lavender, one for each of us! As long as James doesn't wake, we can all have pomegranate scented baths for as long as we want tonight."

"Gods," Ginny rubbed the back of her neck and groaned appreciatively. "I can't think of anything better right now! Oh - Hermione, were you expecting anything?"

"Hmm? Erm, no," Hermione answered, turning to see a very familiar looking black owl gently tapping its beak on the sitting room window. Suddenly all of her nerves had returned - she had half hoped that the Professor had decided to just chuck the letter into the fire and forget all about her request, yet here his owl was, eyeing her in a way that seemed remarkably similar to the way Snape's black eyes would narrow in on her in class.

"What do you think he wants?" Lavender whispered as Hermione walked towards the window before pushing it open and frowning in confusion at the small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg. She untied it carefully, then directed its attention to the treats on the windowsill, but this time the owl simply hooted and flew away.

"It seems that he doesn't wish for me to reply," she muttered glumly. "Pity - I was actually looking forward to what he had to say."

She opened the strings on the pouch and sat down at the table again, laughing shyly when the two other women moved their chairs closer.

"I don't believe it! That smug bastard!" she exclaimed between laughs when she unfolded her own letter that had been shrunk and stuffed into the pouch. He hadn't written anything, only striking a harsh red line through 'Professor', as if she was a student again. "At least he has a sense of humour."

"What else is in it?" Ginny peered into the pouch, then held the bottom and shook it over the table, her eyebrows popping up immediately. "A Muggle pen?"

"A pen?" Hermione reached for the object. "Maybe it's a joke? I can't think wh- oh!"

The last thing she thought of before she disappeared in time with a nauseating tug on her navel was that she should have thought to change out of her crumpled purple work robes _before_ touching the unauthorised portkey. And, perhaps, she should have checked what the damn pen really was in the first place.

Regardless, it wasn't long before she found herself standing knee deep in mud in the pouring rain, in the middle of nowhere, slightly tipsy and absolutely freezing with no sign of civilisation no matter which way she looked.

"What the bloody buggering _fuck_ is going on?!"


	5. Chapter 4: Hard Headed Woman

**Disclaimer:** Still no ownership for meeee. Sorry Severus.

 **A/N:** I love you all. I really, really do. I'm having so much fun with this, I hope you all are, too. A reminder: Hermione is a character in Shakespeare's 'The Winter's Tale'. And Snape is a muggle name, taken from a village near Hadrian's Wall. This explains something further down in this chapter.

Still getting to know the new laptop, so in case you see any errors just blame it on that, eh?

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Hard Headed Woman**

Don't talk of love,  
But I've heard the words before;  
It's sleeping in my memory.

 _Simon and Garfunkel_

 _._

Severus was used to many things; he knew pain as intimately as a lover, he knew alcohol like a relative that he saw a few times a week and, after five years on the Irish coast, he was certainly used to peace and quiet. As was usual for where he lived, it was raining heavily, the familiar drumming of the water on the roof calming his mind so easily that he was sitting in front of the fire with his feet up and a tumbler of whiskey on the coffee table while his oven worked on baking the fish he'd shoved in earlier. He was reading the new issue of Potions Quarterly, a red pen in hand as he scribbled his thoughts, comments and blatant insults in response to various articles. It was a regular ritual for Friday nights - in a one fingered salute to the dead Dark Lord, he spent it doing whatever the hell he wanted, as opposed to attending Malfoy Manor for some ridiculous event, or writhing on the floor in front of the snake faced pillock while red eyes watched his every jerk of discomfort.

But Severus was not, in general, used to company. He still met with Conan and Maebh once a week, and Minerva and Poppy were known to stay for a few days during each school break, but for the life of him he could not remember the last time he had jumped out of his chair so fast that it tipped over at the sound of a high, feminine voice bellowing curses into the wind just outside his front gate.

"What the bloody buggering _fuck_ is going on?!"

 _Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!_

Severus quickly finished his drink and grabbed his wand, casting a shielding spell over his head for the rain and ran out his front door, then swore and stumbled back in to shove his feet into black rain boots.

The curses and oaths continued in an impressive stream; at any other time, he would have stopped to appreciate the talent that was spilling out of the mouth of Miss Granger, but when she let loose with an alliteration that made his cock twitch in fear, he hurtled outside with his wand casting a bright light towards the gate.

"Granger?" he shouted out into the storm, catching sight of a woman knee deep in mud. _Gods,_ he winced, _it's all buggered up now._

"Well, shit a sideways sodding brick!" she shrieked, her arms waving like a fishwife at the market. "Of course it's Granger! What on earth is going on?! You sent me a _portkey_! A portkey to _mud!_ "

Torn between laughing and cringing, Severus jogged closer, unable to hide his smirk as he took in the sight of her, drenched like a drowned rat. The sky was darkening too quickly for him to see her face properly, and the rain had caused her normally wild hair to fall in slick strands around her face, but she looked well enough. It wasn't his fault that the girl hadn't checked what the pen was before touching it, after all.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," he said with a rueful chuckle. "I was under the impression that you would actually know that I sent you a portkey. Must I remind you of the value of _constant vigilance?_ "

"Your constant vigilance can go and sod off!" she said vehemently, the shaking of her voice betraying her chattering teeth. "Well?" she demanded, spreading her arms again before settling them on her hips.

"Well what?"

"Are you jesting, Professor Snape? Get me out of this bloody mud!"

"Oh. Right!" Severus blanched and shoved his wand in her general direction until she was able to move her legs enough to push through the slosh with an unpleasant sucking sound as the mud moved around her sodden robes. He really, _really_ should have just replied to her letter.

She reached him quickly, brown eyes gleaming in the darkness as her lips pressed firmly together. He could still barely see her, but it'd been so long since he was faced with a furious witch that he had to stop himself from taking a step back and raising his wand. That was nothing compared to the immediate discomfort he felt as soon as a flash of lightning above their heads illuminated the woman in front of him. She was most certainly not the eighteen year old that nursed him in his nightmares. Why had he even expected that it'd be easy for him and Hermione would show up as the girl he remembered, so young that she barely drew his notice?

 _Oh, gods..._ There was not a smidgen of her that even remotely reminded him of the girl she'd been. Everything screamed woman, from her long legs to the curve of her waist and the heavy breasts that were heaving with her gasping breaths. Even her face seemed more mature, lined in a pleasing way that softened her features, the faint newly permanent crease between her brows giving physical evidence to her intellectual pursuits. Forty six years old, and he had been rendered speechless by a woman twenty years his junior.

 _Shite._

Severus hurried to grab a hold of his sensibility and reached out to take her arm and pull her through his wards, mentally filing away her little sound of surprise as the cottage loomed out of the darkness like a beacon, then berated himself for filing it in the first place. Without a word he led them at a run down the lane and around the front of his home, then stumbled across the threshold and turned to grimace apologetically as he took in the sight of her standing in his well lit sitting room. It was second nature to arrange his face into his usual frown as he stuck his wand at her clothes and silently dried everything, including her hair that shot out around her face in wild, frizzy curls.

 _Student, student, student!_ he chanted while attempting to glower but failing miserably.

She was still staring at him, breathing heavily but now her mouth held a curious smile to it and her laugh lined eyes were darting around the interior of the cottage, the gentleness of her gaze almost caressing the floor to ceiling bookshelves that left space enough for the fire place.

Should he greet her? Say good evening, perhaps? Apologise for his overestimating her self control to not touch something before she'd investigated it? Pretend that he hadn't found her stuck in the mud and looking like a banshee? What the fuck does one say when one is confronted by an ex-student who has morphed into a siren and is standing in one's sitting room expecting to be... what, exactly?

But his nerves soon began to uncoil when she shrugged and her cheeks lit up with a blush, making all the breath he was holding exhale in a gush. She was already too comfortable in his presence, as if they were _friends._ He could lay claim to four friends that were still alive, and none of them looked like _this_. He wished for his long hair again to hide his face but that couldn't be helped and so he resorted to directing a scowl to her crumpled robes.

And then she laughed. A tinkling, chiming laugh that fell into his parted lips and wormed its way into his stomach then back up towards his heart; the unfamiliar and unwelcome burst of affection that he sensed within him pushing him to bark out a gruff order for her to sit and, "Would you stop your incessant laughter, Granger, and tell me how you want your tea?"

"Milk with two and a half sugars please," was her lilting reply that sent him straight to the kitchen so he could lean his palms on the bench away from her line of sight and close his eyes before he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off what was more than likely inevitable because how the _fuck_ had he not made a jibe at 'two and a half sugars'?

 _Oh fuck, fuck, fucking fuck_... she was completely captivating.

~0~

 _Oh, gods._ This was not the relaxing Friday evening that she'd planned. Hermione looked down at her robes and openly cringed while the Professor busied himself in the kitchen with making tea; it must have been the alcohol. Latching onto that thought to comfort her (for surely she was not so far gone that she couldn't have known it was a bloody portkey!) she eased out of the now dry robes and folded them over the back of the wingback chair. Her stiff jeans (denim never held up well against drying spells) and oversized jumper would have to do.

Snape took a long time making the tea - to give her space to calm down, no doubt. Why had she even laughed in the first place? Stifling a groan of mortification, she sunk down into the chair and turned her face to the fire, hoping the flames would give him the impression that her cheeks were blazing from the heat and not because she was a woman that had fallen knee deep into the mud in front of a man was so attractive that it made her rub her thighs together.

 _Bugger it all!_

Right from the moment he'd run out into the rain, her perceptions of the man had been plucked out of her mind, rearranged into a very pleasurable package, and returned with enough of an entrance to leave her nervous and shy. He was sinfully good looking - not in the conventional sense, that would never really be the case for Severus Snape - but in a way that made him arresting rather than commonly handsome. He was the same, and yet different; his hair was shorter though still long enough to cover his ears, and there were a few new grey strands to stand out against the sea of black ink. And there was a beard, too - nothing like the untidy, fist length nests that were common in Diagon Alley these days, but just enough to lightly cover his chin and neck, the kind that would gently scratch a cheek or teasingly graze a breast. He was still slim and a head or two taller than her, still had the same nose, but he was no longer gaunt and sallow looking. He looked _healthy_. And, fuck, healthy had never looked so good.

The realisation that she was attracted to him was utterly unwelcome. He'd obviously found amusement in the way she'd arrived, and his genuine smirk was a sight for sore eyes, but he'd donned his usual scowl as soon as she'd walked in the door. He'd dried her off with a cursory flick of his wand, then looked so affronted by being in the same room with her after all of these years that Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Really, what else could she have done? She'd looked absolutely ridiculous in her wet robes, and despite his worn and comfortable looking grey jumper and jeans, he was as polished as ever. She'd regret it in the morning, but by then she'd be home and able to safely blame Ginny and Lavender for coming up with Friday afternoon drinks in the first place. At least she had enough sense to sober up immediately - the Professor had always had that effect on his students, and it seemed that six years later, he still did.

"Your tea, Miss Granger." His smooth, deep voice startled her out of her thoughts and when she blinked, it was to find him sitting in the other chair across from her with a tray on the coffee table between them. He wasn't looking at her, instead he was directing his gaze to the preparation of her steaming cup and Hermione allowed herself the indulgence of watching his long, slim fingers gracefully pouring and stirring.

"Thank you, sir," she replied shyly when he handed the cup and saucer over, cringing when he pursed his lips. Snape's disapproval was so commonplace that it felt easier to smile politely - the persona of the teacher she could handle. The man? Perhaps not.

"I am not your teacher any longer, Granger."

 _Well, there goes that._

"No," she agreed with a small nod. "Sorry. I don't have anything else to call you - Mister seems too formal, Professor is obviously not suitable. What would you prefer that I _do_ use, sir?"

She regretted the question immediately when a single eyebrow arched and the black eyes below it shone with... what? Surely not amusement? Whatever it was, it was delectable. He shrugged minutely. "You are able to come up with something, I'm sure."

Wetting her lips, Hermione reached for a biscuit and looked away just long enough to persuade herself that she was a student again and in detention, or something infinitely easier to deal with than in Snape's sitting room at the ends of the earth.

Perking up, she turned back to him with a puzzled look. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Ah," he sounded out and leaned back in his chair with a smirk. _Much better_ , Hermione thought - he was obviously more comfortable when she took the guise of questioning know-it-all. "You didn't recognise the area?"

"It's pouring down rain," she shot back flatly. "And, regretfully, I was not given much notice."

"Did you require... notice?" Suddenly he was leaning forward and resting his elbows on denim clad knees - the waters were instantly more dangerous when his mouth twitched with well disguised mirth. Hermione swallowed audibly.

"No. Not at all. I'm quite comfortable with being wrenched away from Friday drinks unawares. Oh! Sorry sir, just a moment." She shifted in her seat and pulled her wand out of her back pocket, before watching her otter scamper off to tell Ginny that she was safe. Thankfully, her friend had enough tact to only send her eagle flying through with a "Never doubted you, Professor Snape. You'll take care of our Hermione. Oh, and Aunty Hermy - don't forget the meeting location that was suggested previously."

The owl faded away with a mischievous grin and Hermione kept her face carefully blank, taking a page out of his book and shrugging innocently when he shot her questioning glance about the off hand remark. There was no chance in hell that she was going to admit what _that_ referred to.

"Well," she said briskly, cutting into the awkward silence, "thank you for inviting me here."

"I was under the impression that you are here against your will," he replied dryly, watching her with interest when she waved a hand in the air.

"No, no. It was my mistake. I was taken unawares - I can recognise an invitation. Next time I'll just be more cautious when opening any mail coming from... wherever we are."

He leaned even further forward, eyebrow cocked again. "Next time, Miss Granger?"

 _Ohh, there better be a bloody next time!_ "Figure of speech."

"Right." Snape took a long sip of tea and nibbled on a corner of a chocolate biscuit. "What brings you here? Apart from the portkey," he added sarcastically, imitating her with a wave of his hand. She smiled, letting out a short snort of laughter and settled back in the chair.

"It's been years, sir. I wanted to... touch base with you. See how you are, get stuck in the mud. Eat a few biccies and make mindless chitchat over our histories since the last time we saw each other. I admit to being curious - I wasn't even sure that you were alive until a year ago."

"Mindless chitchat?" he echoed with a sour note to his voice. "After six years, you get in touch with me for 'a few biccies and mindless chitchat'?"

Six years ago Hermione would have nodded meekly and gone on her way, but bugger it all, she had her own flat, her own shop - Merlin's balls, she even had an _employee_. With a sniff, she straightened her spine and took another sip of tea.

"I'm not your student anymore, sir, and there's no need to be such an arse not even ten minutes into our evening!" She almost lost her nerve when his eyes widened as if he was about to flare up, yet all he did was grace her with a low chuckle and a nod of his head.

"Then stop calling me 'sir'."

"What?"

"If you're not my student, stop calling me sir. You're acting like a third year and it's ruddy confusing."

"Why?" she stared at him incredulously, spreading her hands then huffing when he scowled again.

"We're both six years out of Hogwarts, Granger. Lose the monikers."

"Hermione," she corrected automatically, grinning when he frowned.

"Pardon?"

"If we're six years out of Hogwarts, then you can call me by my name. I do have one. Her-mi-o-ne."

"I know what your name is," he said gruffly. A soft chime interrupted whatever was about to come out of his mouth next and he held up a hand with a slight grin. "My apologies - give me a moment."

The abrupt change from disgruntled professor to host was nigh on seamless; Hermione nodded bemusedly, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen. There was the unmistakeable sound of an oven door being opened, and the small sitting room was filled for a moment with a beautiful, richly spiced scent before the door closed again and Snape walked back to his chair, casting a quick rune to reset his timer. The fire was still burning in the hearth, casting a golden light over the books that must have numbered in their thousands - it was clear that he had enlarged the bookcases, and whether or not there were more rooms with their wall to wall books remained to be seen.

"Are you warm enough?" His steady enquiry was directed at how she was watching the fire, but it set the nerves to curl around in her belly again and she smiled, then allowed it to widen into a grin when he glowered as if he didn't mean to be thoughtful at all.

"Very warm, thank you."

His gaze stayed on her, unnervingly so, until he seemed satisfied with her answer and gestured at her tea cup, encouraging her to continue. When she did, he spoke again, "We are in Ireland. County Galway, to be exact."

The inner swot reared its bushy head and she looked around the inside of the cottage with renewed interest, as if she could see the coastal Irish county from within the walls. "I've never visited Ireland," she confessed eagerly. "This is all very lovely. You've made a nice home for yourself, sir."

Snape crossed his legs at the knee and his first genuine smirk of the evening tilted his lips at the corner. "I have. Thank you. But, Miss Granger, if I may ask - why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you never been to Ireland? It's only an Apparation away."

Before she could rein herself in, she was laughing and surprising herself at the realisation that she was sitting in Professor Snape's living room on the Irish coast, already having one of the most enjoyable evenings she'd had for years. He didn't laugh - she definitely didn't expect him to - but it was more than evident that he, too, seemed to be not having such a terrible time of it.

"I haven't had the time," she said, unconsciously turning her head with a sideways smile under her lashes. "Really, when did I have the time?" she protested, affronted by his silence. His head was cocked to the side, black eyes examining her face intently while he drunk his tea. It was a strange thing to be the object of his scrutiny - it was the same look that he used to give the bubbling concoctions of his students and yet there was no animosity, no malice, only guarded interest. Hermione returned his gaze with as much courage as she could muster, finally caving when he took another bite of the chocolate biscuit, obviously well used to waiting for women who'd lost their tongues.

"Between Hogwarts and the War," she began hesitantly, now looking at her feet instead of the man across from her, "there was no time for such things. And when the War ended, I wasn't... well, I wasn't particularly interested in travelling, bar going to Australia for my parents. And I ended up liking it so much that I stayed. I completed my Masters there, you know," she said with a proud smile, both at her education and the surprise that flitted across his features.

"In which field?" he asked, biting down a short grin. "I didn't know that anyone from your year had furthered their education, save Draco and Longbottom of course."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers over her knees, making a show of arching her own eyebrow. "Potions."

The drop of his jaw for all of one second rewarded her actions, and he let out a bark of laughter, downing the rest of his tea in a quick gulp. "I had no idea. Congratulations, Miss Granger. I am glad that after all of those years of - how did your year mates classify my classes? Ah; all those years of 'living in hell', you rose above such things and studied a respectable field. I admit to assuming you would follow the other minions and head into Auror training."

"Oh, please," she said immediately, batting a hand at the coffee table. "Auror training? Surely you know me better than that, sir?"

His smile was short and boasting, before he nodded sagely. "I had my suspicions that you might follow a different path. I am glad that you have. But..." he trailed off, and Hermione twisted her lips at the familiar look of dark humour on his face, "I have not seen anything of yours published. Surely the educational standards in Australia are not so different to here? I am quite sure that anyone with a Mastery in Potions is still required to present a thesis, and contribute regularly to improving our field."

His tone was far from biting; there was no hiding that his interest was piqued by the field she had chosen. Hermione took the offered bait with both hands and smirked. "Do you have any issues of Potions Quarterly lying around?"

Eyes narrowed, he stood and walked over to a small dining table tucked into the corner of the room, then bent over one of the chairs as he searched, giving her an unobstructed view of a rather appetizing looking backside. Allowing herself a moment to ogle, Hermione looked innocently at her tea when he returned with five of the most recent publications.

"Well?" he looked at her with a challenging smirk and didn't even blink when she snatched each issue and thumbed through the pages, looking for the titles that she'd recognise anywhere.

"Ha!" she exclaimed with a gurgle of laughter, then reached over to plonk all of them into his lap, complete with dog ears. She watched him nervously as he flicked through the pages - there was nothing that even hinted at what he thought of her articles, focused largely on dreams and theories to better the Arithmantic equations used for healing potions. Her favourite was the last article, where she had bemoaned the state of the community's lack of understanding around Muggle scientific fields, specifically psychology and how beneficial the subject could be in terms of creating better potions for those affected by the recent War. Snape reread the article with renewed interest, and it satisfied her youthful (and rather irrational) desire to please him when she noticed that his comments in red ink were few and far between.

"This is you?" he asked when he had finished; his expression was unreadable.

"It is," she confirmed with a beaming grin.

"Your name..."

"Oh - don't tell me that you didn't put two and two together? Perdita Glover," she said, adding weight to the fake name with a laugh. "Perdita is the daughter of Hermione, and Glover is as Muggle as Granger."

When he shook his head with a smooth laugh, it pushed her to move her chair around the coffee table until they were beside each other. Ignoring his nonplussed expression, she reached over and skimmed the contents page, before conjuring another pen and marking four articles submitted in the issues by the name of Hadrian Prince. His answering laugh was like the guffaw of a much younger man, and he turned to her with a wolfish grin.

"Was I so obvious?"

"Only to a swot," she replied easily. "And I was looking for you intentionally, so it was easier."

Her unintended implication that he had not discovered her real identity in the Potions community was received with a thoughtful nod. In another lifetime, he would have stared at her with cold black eyes until she bowed down, but the Professor simply shook his head. It was expected that he would submit articles under a different name; the man desired privacy after all. It sat well with Hermione that he seemed to understand her own desires for the same thing.

"Minerva told me you were all as well as could be expected," he admitted. "I did not ask beyond that; I did not think it was my place to pry."

She exhaled with a sigh and patted his arm, ignoring the way the muscles underneath her hand jumped in response to the unexpected touch. "You could have. I wouldn't have minded. I said you were being an arse earlier, but you're in good company with me," she said with a small smile. "Disregarding all of the social graces that you'd no doubt prefer we adhere to, I'll confess to using Australia the way you've been using Ireland. Although you're infinitely better at it than I was."

"Better at what, Miss Granger?"

"Better at _living,_ " she said, gesturing around to the comfort of the room. "I only lasted a few years - when my parents wanted to return, I came back a few months after they did. I wanted to try doing it alone but I'm afraid I didn't have the backbone."

Snape rolled his eyes and gathered up the cups, settling them back on the tea tray and walking with them over to the kitchen. A flick of his wand sent them into the sink and they were being gently washed within seconds. He wandered back into the room, though not after Hermione noticed how he looked at the oven with a pensive expression, as if he was holding an internal debate. In the end, he sat down again and said, "It's easier to be alone when you're used to it. But I digress; this is my home now, and I am loathe to give it up. I am far too selfish to return."

His bare honesty left her reeling and she stared at him until he cleared his throat, evidently uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," she said immediately, and, taking her Gryffindor bravery in hand, changed the subject. "How did you find this place? When did you come? Did you stay in England for long? I'm embarrassed to say that I left straight after your trial and whenever I asked Harry, he just said that you hadn't stayed in touch."

The oven chimed again, interrupting her tirade. Snape snorted a laugh and made his way back into the kitchen to turn off the appliance. Whatever he took out of the oven seemed near divine, and Hermione stood and smoothed down her jumper, wondering if he was expecting company.

"I'm sorry," she called out again, until he came into view. He stood at the kitchen bench, watching her calmly and waiting for the rest of her words. "I'm intruding, I know. I'll head home, perhaps we can-"

"Miss Granger," he said flatly, both eyebrows raised and mouth quirking with a smile. A movement of his hands showed that he held two plates. "You may join me, if you like. Your questions require more than just tea to accompany them." A jerk of his head had her noticing the wine that appeared on the kitchen table, and she smiled widely.

Hermione did not know what she was doing, nor what his intentions were, but when she noticed a flash of expectation in his eyes, she nodded, flushing with pleasure when he grinned, obviously pleased with her decision.

"All right, then. I would like that, Severus."

Both registered her use of his name for the first time, and again his expression was unreadable, though there was no chance that Hermione's nervous smile escaped his notice. She found that she did not even want it to.


	6. Chapter 5: Bad, Bad Thing

**Disclaimer:** "There's no sugar in my coffeeeee, it makes me meeeean, it makes me meeeeean"... erm. IE, no characters in my folio?

 **A/N:** Honestly, if no one understands the Chris Isaak comparison at the end of this chapter, I'm going to fall into the nearest hole and never come out. Except maybe to update.

Credit where credit is due - Ginny in this chapter is a testament to one hilarious reader, meg527. And Lavender Brown is really just Angelus in disguise. And if anyone gets the Priscilla Queen of the Desert reference, then take twenty points and a Severus in the bath dream.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Bad, Bad Thing**

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.

 _Chris Isaak_

 _._

Severus knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Inviting her to stay for dinner? It was all wrong - it made it seem like he'd arranged the whole thing, a premeditated evening of mediocre baked fish and white wine that he'd been wanting to try with it for weeks.

It would have been rude to allow her to leave in the throws of the storm that was raging outside, and he wasn't so far removed from his moral code that he could ignore the rumblings of her stomach. Still, Severus vowed to remain on his guard; he found Hermione fascinating, and her unconventional beauty was certainly a part of that, but what trumped it all was her intellect. It was more than comfortable to stay silent as he carefully removed the flesh from the inside of the fish, then added a salad from his garden to their plates - he was a talkative man, which surprised many; the issue was generally deciding what to say. After so many years of speaking his mind and being encouraged to do so by both masters, it took effort to not let the inner bastard speak out at every opportunity. Thus he was content to simply listen as she detailed her three years of study for her Masters, and the newly opened apothecary.

"And where is this..." he paused for effect as he settled into the straight wooden chair at the dinner table, "apothecary? Surely not in Australia?"

Her answering laugh was a balm to his ears, and Severus allowed himself a moment to admire this unexpected boon - Hermione Granger was more than pleasant company; quick to laugh, witty enough to hold a conversation yet she still retained enough of her youthful curiosity that there were barely any awkward silences. It should have annoyed him; it did the opposite. Not even when she peppered him with as many questions as he had for her.

To tell the truth, she was exactly the type of woman he always found himself interested in - until he remembered her age and his past, which certainly put a dampener on any fond feelings. There was no doubt that a woman like this would prefer a man the same age, a man able to be a point of pride rather than embarrassment. It was easy for him, after so many years of practice, to enjoy her while simultaneously keeping a tight rein on any tentative feelings that were already budding. And on that note, how the _fuck_ did he have feelings for a woman after speaking to her for only a few minutes? He was choosing to discount the lifetime that she had been his student. He himself had always pictured a quiet life; he was living alone on rugged coastline for Merlin's sake, how had it come to be that he had spoken to _two_ women in the past week?

If he had his way, he'd take Maebh's thirty eight years and trade them with Hermione's twenty five. Or twenty six. Whatever she was. He had more greys in his hair than she had freckles on her nose. Though how he had come to count the freckles on her nose, he had no idea. Tightening his resolve, Severus studiously stared at his plate.

"I was inspired by you, actually," she said, tipping her wine glass his way as she took a bite of the fish. "And this is wonderful, by the way. Where on earth did you learn to cook fish like this?"

"One thing at a time," he replied quickly, heading her off before she could get any further and enjoying her blush more than he should. "Why by me?"

He wasn't discouraged by her sudden shyness; a lifetime of being Head of a House that prided patience over brashness made it simple to sit and eat while she gathered her thoughts.

"Well, it's on Diagon Alley - I know, I know, very typical, but we've made it with a second entrance that opens onto Knockturn Alley. So we're proclaiming an acceptance of all customers, and at the same time, we brew for the diversity of people that walk through the doors. We're the Switzerland of Magical Britain," she said with a proud smirk, tossing back another mouthful of wine. "Can you see the resemblance?"

"Between Switzerland and myself? Not at all. But I can see good business sense - I assume it was Miss Brown's idea?"

"Ha!" Hermione stabbed a piece of cucumber and waved it at him with a smile. "You'd be surprised. It's really coming along surprisingly well. I'm shocked, to be honest."

Cocking an eyebrow, Severus risked a glance at her to say, "And why is that? Your reputation of being a know-it-all extends to the wider community, surely? That would lend itself to customers believing that you are at least an adequate brewer."

Severus had half hoped it would turn sour at that point; Snape the Professor was a mean, snarky sod, more often than not. Severus the man was a witty, mean, snarky person. Not much difference, but it seemed that he had underestimated Hermione Granger. The years had made her into a woman with a sense of humour as black as his own, not that he was complaining. It was not above him to gladly accept another reminder that she was most definitely no longer his student.

Her curls danced around her face as she nodded, emphasizing how delicate she really was; he fancied his hand would dwarf her cheek, maybe even be able to hold the whole of the back of her neck while he kissed her.

Kissed her?

 _Bugger-fuck!_

Blinking, he tuned back in to see her watching him with a calculating gaze. He had just enough time to prepare himself before she spoke.

"More than adequate," she said tartly. "The reputation also comes with a thick skin, courtesy of someone rather special to me, in fact."

 _Shite - special?_

"Special? Miss Granger, you flatter me," he offered blandly, completely deceived by her beam.

"Flatter you? I was speaking of McGonagall - she has such pearls of wisdom to offer. Who did you think I was referring to?"

For the first time that evening, and indeed for weeks, Severus indulged in the chance to laugh. What made it even more amusing was that Hermione looked entirely unsure of how to deal with it, which only prompted him to laugh more, until he suspected that he looked like an idiot. He stopped abruptly.

"Right - Minerva 'bollocks the size of a centaur' McGonagall."

Hermione was nonplussed for a short second, before she caught on and snorted. "One of hers? I much prefer: 'tackle worthy of participating in the Headless Hunt.'"

 _No woman should look so enticing discussing appendage sizes..._

"Indeed," he said eventually, conceding defeat with a smirk.

"Now will you tell me how you managed to make this taste so good? I barely touch a fish and it burns."

"Many years of practice. Didn't anyone ever tell you how comparable cooking is to brewing?"

"Not in those words. I _do_ seem to remember being told that 'Brewing is _nothing_ like cooking, something you lot of dunderheads cannot seem to get your heads around.'"

"I said cooking is comparable to brewing, not the other way round Miss Granger. But ten points for exercising your talent for regurgitating the words of an esteemed educator."

Her fork tapped on the plate while she swallowed and took a long sip of wine, shooting him an impish grin over the glass. "Touché, _Severus_."

They returned to the meal. The fish was cooked quite well; certainly much better than expected. Even the salad greens were crisp and sweet, benefitting perfectly from the correspondence he still kept up with Pomona after the witch had designed his garden and greenhouse two years ago. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing. And the wine - if he'd known it would be stormy and freezing, he would've chosen a red. But it matched perfectly with the fish, sliding down his throat with the lightness that came with wine that had three digits in its cost. Which was, of course, another thing that he would never admit to. Not to Granger, at least. There was barely _anything_ about their evening that _didn't_ conjure the illusion of a 'date'.

 _Perish the sodding thought - no first date of mine would be with bland fish and wine bought over the internet._

It was too much. His carefully cultivated existence did not factor in Hermione blowing in like a hurricane, curves in all the right places and some of the not-at-all-wrong, curls bouncing around her face, brown eyes that looked like the prized whiskey on the top shelf of the nearest bookcase. And when the evening ended, as it inevitably did, he didn't want it to. He walked her out, awkwardly holding her back by the elbow so he could reach past her body to open the door for her, all the while trying to pretend that he hadn't realised that she smelled like pomegranates and rose water.

"I've had a lovely time," Hermione confessed, looking almost puzzled. "I didn't expect to. I thought you'd hex me through to next week!"

"For touching a portkey? Surely the destination was punishment enough?"

"Not as much as you might think," she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You know what, Severus? I think you should come to the apothecary. I would..." she paused, brown eyes flicking to his shyly before she looked out at the dark garden, "I would love it if you would just come and take a look. Share advice, if you too. Hell, you could even do some damage control if you want."

"Damage control?" he repeated, concentrating on the way the rain was spattering onto the front gate. The shielding charm worked perfectly well, keeping them dry, then warm when he cast a quick charm to make up for the cold weather. He was doing his best to avoid looking at the way the moisture in the air had caused Hermione's hair to frizz up until it was begging for him to twirl a finger around a curl, and he latched onto her words eagerly. "You've made mistakes already?"

"None at all," she shot back proudly. "But we're looking at poaching Malfoy. Draco, not the father." She gave a delicate shudder and scratched at her arm. "I could use some advice."

"I haven't spoken to father or son in five years," he said honestly. "I confess that I do not have the desire to."

He was referring to her experience at Malfoy Manor - Lucius had soured in his eyes not long after. They had always maintained a strange, strained friendship and it was more than a relief to simply give it up. Draco, on the other hand, had been forbidden to speak with him since - something that he remembered a few times a week when he'd manage to sleep in and wake at the same time that he'd held the quiet, curious looking babe that was his godson all those years ago.

Hermione shrugged, giving him a crooked grin that looked out of place on the sweetness of her face. "Neither do I. Lucius is just a cock in a frock on a rock now, after all."

 _Merlin's twisted balls, the_ mouth _on this woman..._

Severus raised his hands, palms up and made a show of taking one step away from her. He pretended not to notice that she sidled back to his side anyway. "He is in Azkaban, yes, so the cock on a rock is correct. And the frock...?"

"Those gods-awful robes," she said with a shudder. "And the cane. Merlin. But I _do_ want to poach Draco. I want his skills and I want to pay him enough so that he'll come and work with me. Do you think I could do it?"

He fixed her with a measuring stare, lip curling instinctively while he mulled it over. Possibly; the only reason that Draco was still maintaining the Malfoy façade was that his father had magically bound him to agree to contractual conditions before accepting the pitiful remains of what was left of the family fortune. He had not read one inch of the Daily Prophet in years, but Minerva knew enough and Severus was up to date with Draco's affairs, not that the younger man would know it. It wasn't his place to admit to Hermione that Draco was barely making ends meet and that even a handful of galleons each month could sway him her way, not when he had a vested interest in the man cutting all ties with father, as then Severus would be able to _see_ him. And he did want to - very much. The bitterness of failing his godson left an unpleasant taste in his mouth; he wanted Hermione to be successful, to wrench his godson away from the bounds of that shit heap of a contract. But not at the expense of Draco's pride - if he had any left.

"It's not for me to speculate, considering my voluntary detachment from the community. I won't talk to him for you, Miss Granger."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I would never make such demands. Not from you. I meant that if you had the time, you should just pop in, have a look around and constructively criticise it to your heart's content. And it's Hermione," she reminded with a light poke to his arm.

"You know me so well," he drawled, catching her blush out of the corner of his eye. "Regardless - _Hermione_ , I am content for now. Here, I mean. I do not particularly wish to involve myself with the Magical community in the near future. Or at all."

If he didn't know better, he might have thought she was disappointed. But women that looked like she did didn't ever get disappointed by spending _less_ time with Severus Snape - he was surprised she wasn't rubbing her hands with glee. Instead, she scrunched her lips up and her thin brown brows puckered together.

"Right," she said shortly, offering him a polite, albeit curt, nod. "I understand. Of course you'd feel that way. Well, forgive me for intruding on your time." There was no anger in her tone at all, though he wished there was. It would've been nice to have her leave him a reminder of the spirit that he'd admired covertly for years. She made to walk by him to reach the gate, and again he jogged beside her and pushed it open for her, watching almost with regret as she slid out and began to walk to where the wards ended. Christ, all he'd ever wanted was just to retire in peace, brew on his own terms and just do whatever the hell he wished. Yet now he only really wished to take her arm and lead her back inside so she could sit in one of the wingback chairs again.

It was something he did want, somewhere in the depths of him that wasn't a damaged mess. He wanted Sunday mornings with a woman, both reading and looking up occasionally, tea steeping and the windows open to the sun while they savoured the quietness of the morning after getting stiff legs from staying so long in bed. Until today, the woman had a faceless body; after tonight, he had the niggling feeling that it would resemble the woman who was walking determinedly back towards him.

"I haven't forgotten anything," she said hurriedly, heading off those exact words. "Here. Try this. It's not named and hasn't been approved yet, but it's not far off. Follow the instructions." She produced a small vial from an inner pocket of her robes, offering it to him in the center of her palm. He stared at it for a moment, attempting to examine the clear liquid but plucked it out of her hand when she shifted her weight to the other foot.

"What is it?" he asked and turned it over in his hands, looking up to see her eyes trained on his movements before she smiled slightly.

"You'll see. Anyway, thank you." With a half wave, she turned on her heel and he realised that he might not have the chance to ask the question simmering just under his surface.

"Hermione?" he called softly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. She paused and looked back.

"Did you come all the way here just to ask about Draco?"

If he had surprised her, she didn't show it. Instead he watched as her smile grew into a grin; he had the horrible suspicion that his own mouth was doing the same ridiculous thing when she shook her head.

"No - it was the _last_ thing on my mind," she admitted slowly, pressing her lips together with an unreadable expression (which was saying something - he was still the foremost Legilimens for thousands of leagues) and striding out into the darkness.

In the privacy of his head, he could admit that after years of being content and even, dare he say it, happy with his own company, he was now more lonely than he'd ever been. She'd been dangled in front of him like bait, and he wanted to lure her back like a cork on the tide.

Severus stayed until he heard the soft pop of Hermione Disapparating, then stood outside for a little longer, running his thumb over the vial in his pocket. Without another thought, he strolled back inside. He may have even still been smiling.

~0~

He wasn't smiling the next morning.

He'd inspected the vial closely upon returning, uncapping the lid to take in the scent of pomegranates and rose water - _just like her_ , his traitorous mind reminded him. He read the list of ingredients she'd stuck on the side, not that he needed to - he could smell the combination on the third try. Still, he was nothing if not adventurous when it came to testing promising concoctions, and Granger wasn't one to fuck up.

Humming under his breath, he'd walked back through the house, pausing to wave a hand to increase the strength of the candles, and reached the bathroom with a smile. It was his one indulgence, bar the greenhouse that had been added on to the side of the house with charms up to its invisible-to-the-Muggle-eye roof. He'd transfigured it to resemble the bathroom from when he had been Headmaster; it was the only place that he'd been able to shed his coverings, literally and metaphorically, to have some peace and quiet.

He'd turned on the taps, then tipped the bottle into the bath, nodding approvingly at the lack of bubbles. He was _not_ a bubble man. Clothes discarded, he stepped into the bath, sinking into the warm water with a gasp of surprise as his senses were filled with the exotic scent of the oil, combined with its magical properties. It wasn't just a relaxing mixture of ingredients - nor was it a healing potion. It was a mind numbingly good combination of both, leaving him to lie against the edge of the bath, his head resting on the tall end that he'd hit long ago with a cushioning charm.

It was like being enveloped in warmth and peace and stillness. His whole being was wrapped in what felt like a blanket, though in reality he couldn't see anything but the clear water.

Severus stayed in the water for hours, casting warming charm after warming charm, torn between wanting to sob with the relief that he was being held and wanting to sneer at himself for being such a pansy that he could've scratched out Snape and written Parkinson and it would've stuck.

Relief won out. When he'd finally collapsed onto the bed, drained emotionally and physically from the tears he'd never admit he'd shed, he fell asleep.

And slept.

And slept.

With no nightmares at all.

Not one blink of disturbed sleep.

He woke with the constricting delight of thrusting his long absent and now returned with a vengeance erection into the soft mattress, still in the delicate plane between sleep and waking, while he pushed inside Hermione, easing into her slowly, languidly, her long hair curling around his fingers as he kissed her. Fuck, she was so _tight_ and so _wet_ that it only took five agonising thrusts before he was spent inside her, and in turn lying on the evidence that he'd just wanked off to a former student who was a goddess, a queen, compared to his lowly, hook nosed pawn.

~0~

"You know..." Ginny narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "If you squint a little and look at it sideways, it almost seems like it was a _date_."

"It was dinner!" Hermione protested, groaning inwardly when Lavender smirked into her glass of red wine.

"Dinner and _wine_ ," Lavender pronounced, taking a pointed sip. "Severus Snape. Who knew he'd be such a smooth operator?"

"Oh, Gods," Hermione moaned, taking a moment to look around the closed shop and ignoring Ginny's muttered, "I _always_ knew."

It was Monday evening, and her meeting with Ginny and Lavender had been moved back, not that she was complaining. The apothecary had been so busy that morning that there was no time for anything that even resembled a meeting, unless a meeting meant processing payments. With that in mind, she traced her index finger around the rim of her own glass.

"It wasn't a date. He was as surprised as me - and I was bloody mortified!"

"As you should be! Whatever happened to CONSTANT VIGILANCE?"

"He said the exact same thing to me, Ginny. I almost died of embarrassment. I was wet through, robes a mess and there he was in a jumper and _jeans_."

"Jeans?" Lavender perked up, interest piqued. "Did you get a look at his arse? I always thought it'd be delicious underneath all of those robes - obviously he needed to billow so we wouldn't be distracted from our studies. And that voice..."

"The arse works well, not that I'll say anything further on that note. His voice is still the same," Hermione said with a smirk. "Even deeper, if that's even possible."

"And what does he _look_ like? The same?" Lavender leaned forward eagerly, elbows on the counter.

"The same, but different," Hermione began, holding up a hand when Ginny snorted. "He's the same man in a way, but he just looks so much _better_. Healthier. I mean he's still tall and dark-"

"And handsome!"

"Shut up, Lavender. So he's still tall, still thin although he's filled out a bit. And his hair is shorter, though only by a little bit. And he has some greys."

"Oh, I love a light dusting of grey," Ginny said dreamily. "Just the right amount can mean the difference between an old codger and a sophisticated, older man who knows what to do with his hands."

"I'm choosing to ignore that, Ginny Weasley. _Anyway_ , he even has a bit of a beard now-"

"Merlin's pink perfume, a _beard_?" Lavender was close to swooning; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Not a beard per se. Stubble - a week old stubble, if you know what I mean. No moustache, thank the gods for that."

"Mmm. Yes. It's a bit of a pity about the beard... his skin was always so clear, almost translucent. His cheeks would be as soft as a baby's. But I can deal with some pash rash. No pain, no gain. Good about the moustache, though. It'd muffle his voice."

"Drink, Lavender. You're this close to spilling all of your secrets and it is my place as the boss of a third of this business to advise you to up your alcohol intake immediately." Ginny pushed the bottle across the counter, smirking at Hermione who simply mouthed: 'self refilling glass!'

"I just can't believe it didn't all go tits up," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I know you - you would've yelled your little heart out, and the Snape I know would've spelled your mouth shut."

"Obviously he didn't," Lavender put in. "And Hermione - such a good idea to invest in these glasses that refill themselves. Bit dangerous for a Monday night though."

"Dangerous? Are you even Lavender Brown? Should I check for indications that she's under the Polyjuice, Ginny?"

"Hmm, possibly. This is red wine, Lav-Lav. It's _medicinal_."

Lavender batted her eyelashes coquettishly and grinned. "Medicinal indeed. Bottoms up then, ladies."

"Lavender, the point is that there _is_ no bottom."

"Give it up, Hermione," Ginny advised. "Just accept that she'll be in late tomorrow."

"Gods, not tomorrow!" Hermione winced and picked up her own glass, waving a hand to summon vials of her variation of the Sober Up potion. "I need to prepare to meet with Draco. He said he'd see me on Wednesday - not at the manor, thank all that could possibly be holy, but at another one of his houses around here. The man is still made of money, Ginny. How on earth are we going to get him on side?"

"Easy. He's an Assistant Professor at Durmstrang - he's waiting on an old bat to die so he can get his promotion and his boss is only eighty seven! He'll want to get out, believe me. Did Snape say anything? Give any hints?"

"None at all. He didn't even want to discuss it. I don't actually think I'll be seeing him again."

"Piffle poffle," said Lavender, crossing her arms. Her stylish purple glasses flashed with the movement of the shake of her head. "You'll see him. After years of being more celibate than a Muggle monk, he won't be able to think straight after seeing you. He'll be here one day, you'll see."

"I really don't think so..." Hermione was almost completely sure she'd scarred the man for life. Could she have been any more obvious? Sweet Circe, she'd even batted her lashes à la Lavender at some point. And then given him a vial designed to utterly relax the body and mind whilst in the _bath_.

"The only thing that I do know is that my dreams have stopped," she said eventually, easing out of her chair and leaning against the shop counter to survey her tiny little kingdom.

It was amazing, really - they'd bought out Mr. Mulpepper's on the Knockturn Alley side for the space, managing to find a spare shop almost directly behind it that faced onto Diagon Alley. A few sweat ridden days of charms work had seen the place expanded and linked together perfectly, until there were two levels - one large open plan ground floor, filled with shelf after shelf of ingredients, brewing accessories and hundreds of books, whilst the stairway led to Hermione's office, laboratory and private living quarters. On the top of the entire building was her favourite place: the greenhouse. The entire shop was a testimony to the pooling of three Order of Merlins - Hermione's, Ginny's and Harry's, as well as her parent's gift of the excess from the sale of their practice in Sydney. And it was paying off marvellously - she was never in it for the money, but when the research scholarship she'd managed to snag for the apothecary from St. Mungo's was combined with the newly minted demand for customers to be able to move comfortably between Diagon and Knockturn, they were looking at never having to write one single red number in the books at all.

Thinking of the books brought her back to Lavender, and she realised that Ginny and her fair haired bookkeeper/assistant were staring at her, befuddled.

"What?" she asked, hands spread. "It's true. They stopped... well, funnily enough, they stopped on Friday evening."

"After you had dinner with Snape?" Ginny clarified, letting out a low whistle of amusement when Hermione nodded.

"What?" she said again. "It's perfectly normal. I studied it in Australia, remember... the psychological aspect of the sodding War. There was always the possibility that I was so fixated on the man that the minute I saw him, I'd make such a fool of myself that I'd be mortified enough to stop dreaming about him. Seems I've achieved that, at least." She saluted the air sarcastically, feeling the red burn of her flushed cheeks.

It was a relief for the dreams to end - even though they'd become a part of her life by now, she still didn't enjoy them one bit. It just left her with one more thing to thank Severus for: 'thanks for saving all of our hides, thanks for staying at my bedside after I lost my marbles, and thanks for ridding me of dreams of you dying every night'. She was onto a real winner there.

"If you say it's normal, then it's normal," Ginny said, taking a drink of her juice, her green eyes never leaving Hermione's brown. "But I do think it's more than just your fixation... I think you're finally putting everything to rest. Why else have you settled so well here? It's all coming together for you, Hermione. Just shave your legs once in a while so you're ready for your love life to _come_ together too, hmm?"

"Oh, fuckall, Weasley," Hermione hurled back with a pealing laugh. "Bugger off, the both of you. I know it was about closure, and I've got it. Closure, I mean. I don't think it means anything more than that."

Lavender tittered and tossed a grape into her mouth, adjusting a falling black bra strap underneath her blouse, then gasped.

"Well, I do. Have an idea, that is. Not that I can remember it now. Who's for some Chris Isaak, hmm?"

"I know what you're doing, Lavender," said Ginny, smirking mischievously. "You just want to hear the closest thing to Snape's voice."

Lavender danced over to the Muggle stereo and fiddled with a few buttons and dials, before the base notes began to pulse through the apothecary. Hermione smiled in spite of herself - she really couldn't have picked better business partners, even though they did make an odd group.

"Besides," Lavender said, gesturing to Hermione's wine in encouragement and Ginny's fresh juice, "when is he _ever_ going to tell me that I've done a bad, bad thing? This is as good as turning up to an overnight detention. Almost."

"Mmmm," Hermione sounded, tapping her foot in time with the music, allowing the wine to cloud her judgment for one delicious moment. "I think a _weekend_ would be better."

"You're right," Ginny agreed. "He's so tall. So much man, so little time..."

"Don't worry, Hermione," Lavender sang, "he'll come 'round. Just you wait."

She made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, though remained disbelieving.


	7. Chapter 6: Message Text

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

 **A/N:** Does anyone fancy a thank you? Whoever gets the 100th review, feel free to pop a PM through and let's chat about a SS/HG oneshot. If I had my way, I'd write one for each of you but that might prove difficult. How about, if you can pick out the Mark Darcy (Bridget Jones) quote here, then please enjoy a lovely dream of Severus on horseback. Thank me later.

I was intending to have more in this chapter, but as you'll see with the ending, the next scene coming is a very long one, so will be in the next chapter. Forgive me.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Message Text**

Whatever fear invents, I swear it makes no sense  
I reach out through the border fence  
Come down, come talk to me

 _Peter Gabriel_

 _._

Slim, calloused fingers trailed a line from her neck, pausing to dance over her breasts. Her breath hitched as the rough pad of a thumb brushed over both nipples, the gentle touch full of promise and drawing the sensitive skin tight. A full hand splayed possessively over her stomach before delving lower then lower still until teasingly slow circles were being traced over the skin of her inner thigh.

"Too slow, too slow," she managed to whisper and was rewarded by a low, breathy chuckle that had her mouth dry with anticipation.

Still the movements did not hasten - without any rush they languidly moved to cup her, the heel of his hand pressing down on her bud while a long index finger moved to lazily stroke sensitive folds.

"Severus..."

He bent his head to her ear, breath warm and sweet as it tickled the hairs at her neck. "All in good time, yes?"

Her back arched as he adjusted his hand, his thumb taking the place of the heel while a second finger joined the first, pressing insistently inside her. "Yes, yes," she agreed; there was never any question needed in the first place. "Please..."

At her words, he curled his fingers inside her, pressing down firmly when she exhaled forcefully. Slow circles of his thumb on her clit became sure, rolling strokes, the combination of ministrations sending her heels digging into the mattress, hands searching for anything to clutch. She searched for his shoulders to dig her nails into, to hiss with pleasure, to kiss his open mouth-

She could not find his mouth.

Hermione woke with a start, her heart pounding and legs twisted in the white, cool sheets. Dawn was far off and the light of the low moon through the window illuminated the empty space beside her, leaving her to sigh in disappointment, feeling bereft of the company she craved. Already her hand was pulling up her nightdress until it slipped past the small scrap of cotton.

With the reminder of his tantalising, deep voice in her ear, she moved her own fingers inside herself, working harder to crush the regret that they were not calloused, they were not long and slim and pale.

She came with gasping, heaving breaths but it did not quell the ache. When sleep found her again, it was fitful and full of dreams of a man with his head of long black hair between her thighs as his tongue lapped at her, like the clean edge of a cat's tongue on milk.

~0~

Hermione stepped out of the alley and looked around, finding the quiet suburban street empty. With flat palms, she smoothed down her robes to iron out any creases from the Apparation, nodding to herself with silent approval when her task was accomplished. The dark grey robes were more professional and conservative than what she usually preferred, but they fell around her like protective armour, reminding her that she was here on her own terms to see Draco; no one had ordered her, no one had coerced her.

With a snap of her fingers to distract her mind from focusing on those horrible hours in Malfoy Manor, she began to walk along the rows of identical houses, searching for number twenty three. The address that came in Draco's owled acceptance of a meeting was in the Midlands, and the area itself seemed to be a stepping stone between the industrialised Cokeworth and the affluent streets surrounding Grimmauld Place. When she found the numbers she was looking for, she stepped back to survey the house, searching for clues.

It was well kept, the white paint clear and fresh. The windows on each street facing level were scrubbed clean but the curtains were shut tight. It almost reminded her of the terrace houses in Surry Hills near her parent's dental practice, but it lacked the historical personality of Sydney. The house looked... austere. Lonely, even.

She wished for a moment that Severus had given her advice after all - his carefully composed expression gave her no hints, but his eyes had darkened just enough to suggest that he was unsatisfied with his godson's life, that there was a thousand things he could say if he did not believe in Draco's right to privacy. Hermione respected Snape all the more for it, but it certainly wouldn't make her job any easier.

She hadn't heard from him since being jerked by her navel to his cottage the week before. It had only occurred to her after she'd left that there was no way to get in contact with the man; she'd strained to hear every word that slipped out of his thin lipped mouth, and none of them were ways to contact or to see him. Had he intended that? To speak to her in his smooth, rich tones; speak of her intellectual interests, of his years in his cottage, of her time in Australia, and then to let her leave without a word? It was baffling.

After so many years, the connection between them was a shock - almost like the jolt of pleasure she'd felt when he would take her arm to halt her steps so he could open the door or the gate. In truth, Hermione wanted to kiss him until she couldn't think. He was an arresting man; even more so without the confines of Hogwarts and it wasn't enough to simply know him and leave it at that. No, it was absolutely not enough.

Clutching her folder of parchment, she pushed open the neat cast iron gate and strode up the small stone steps, raising her fist to knock three times on the white door bordered with navy blue paint. In the time between her knock and when it was opened, she focused on the little tiles under her feet that had been laid over the entirety of the front courtyard; she had a sneaking suspicion that such an addition would be made with the intention of being child friendly, considering the rest of the houses sported cracked pavement. Filing it away on her mental list of ways to covertly persuade him, she jerked her chin up with a jolt of surprise when the door was wrenched open.

"Draco?"

The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Of course it was Draco - the white blonde hair and smooth fair skin answered that as soon as he'd opened the door, yet the man before her was... different. Tired, almost sallow looking; truthfully, he looked the way _Severus_ used to look.

"Granger," he said, his tone clipped and curt. A nod of his head was all the warning she got before he let the door go, forcing her to catch it with her foot and step inside to see him striding into a door that branched off the long hallway of the ground floor. It was warmer inside the home, with portraits and landscapes lining the walls and a rich red Persian carpet runner under her feet. The exterior of the building seemed to match the man within - the inside was, she surmised, the vision of the wife she hadn't yet seen.

Hermione walked slowly down the hallway, pausing in front of the one open door to take in his study. Taking on an air of professional interest, she surveyed the solid cedar wood desk with two chairs placed in front of it and bookshelves lining each wall. Draco stood beside one of the chairs, and sat after she slid into the one he'd designated as hers. The equal footing was far more preferable than facing him over a desk, and she found that she was leaning back into the comfortable chair with a slight smile. It was not returned, but Hermione was prepared - even though Severus had not said one word to her about Draco, she'd picked up enough from what he _hadn't_ said to know how to go about it.

Pleasantries were exchanged and tea was brought, deposited onto the desk by a quiet (yet, strangely, not unhappy looking) house elf wearing a neat emerald green pillowcase. It soon became an amusing battle of wills, between the man who was not willing to bow to his pride to _ask_ for the position, and the woman that wished to simply get on with it. Finally Hermione grabbed the bull by the horns and inwardly cheered herself for coming up with the spectacular exaggeration of the truth. It was not an outright lie, but she was taking a Slytherin approach today, and an embellishment was handy for her task.

"I've spoken to Durmstrang, you see, and they have said how unwilling they are to allow me to take you off their hands."

Draco leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked elegantly. "Oh?"

 _The bastard is playing it for all he's worth! Still, I want him just as badly as he needs me..._

"Mmm, yes," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "They said they'd be willing to increase your salary to more than I could offer."

Both eyebrows jolted up and he crossed his right leg over his left. "Did they now?"

Hermione nodded, feeling every bit the devious minx but decided that the ends justified the means in this case. "Yes. Except they seem to be of the opinion that the increase would happen upon your promotion. I think they were trying to pull the wool over my eyes, to be honest," she added innocently, watching his carefully assembled expression harden slightly. She knew disappointment when she saw it, considering everyone was aware that a promotion in the educational world happened generally due to death from old age or a cauldron exploding. Sighing softly, Hermione adjusted Lavender's glasses that were sitting just on the edge of her nose; she'd charmed them to be a sophisticated colour of midnight black.

"And what did you say to them, Ms. Granger?"

The polite moniker sent a thrill to her belly and she offered a silent prayer to whoever was listening that she was playing this well enough to entice him to her side, as well as to make it appear from all angles that he was the one in control. She wasn't a complete stranger to Draco - both had completed their apprenticeship at the same time, albeit in different countries, and the Potions community was not particularly large. She'd seen him a handful of times during her three years of further study, and that was enough to know that without the pressure of the War, he was a polite (if somewhat stiff) man, and was as focused as she was. Truth be told, Hermione would even prefer to work with him over Severus - Draco had a quiet confidence that complemented her own tendency to lose herself in her work until she went without sleep.

And there was a very insistent, and very right, part of herself that admitted that any possible relationship she formed with Severus would not be with her as the weaker link, where he was in a position above her. She'd spent years as his student; they needed a blank slate. An equal slate. That is, if there was going to even be a need for a slate in the first place... More than likely not.

Resting her elbows on her knees, Hermione gave her answer with a wry smile. "Well, I was affronted, to tell you the truth. I found them positively rude. I said, and quite rightly I'd imagine, that surely someone with as much talent as yours would prefer to join the private sector for an immediately increased wage that matches your experience and education. They assured me that your preferences lie with ensuring your continued employment with 'a world renowned educational institution'. I really think they were just taking the piss, if you ask me."

 _If I've read him right, he needs just the right amount of buttering up mixed with honest, Gryffindor-esque babble, plus a little bit of humour so he's well aware that he's not going to be working with old farts like in Durmstrang..._

"Regardless, Draco - it's completely up to you. I want you to work with me - not for me, but with me, so we can run the business together. We've just been granted a fantastic research grant from St. Mungo's - did you hear about it in the Prophet? Oh, good. Anyway, I need someone with the same _passion_ to sink their teeth into the Potions side of the research, while I can take my time with the arithmancy work as well as the overall running of the business. I need a partner, and I think you are the best wizard for the job. In fact, the position is yours, if you want it. It's in your hands, though, as I do understand that you are already gainfully employed..."

Hermione wasn't a Legilimens - far from it. She had barely any talent in such things, save her self taught Occlumency shields that she really only used nowadays to aid with party tricks. But there was no mistaking the gleam of Draco's blue eyes; his face remained unchanged, a mask of polite interest, but she could almost _see_ the whirling possibilities running through his mind.

"Ms. Granger-" he began, cutting off abruptly when she waved a hand while sipping her tea.

"Hermione, please."

"Right..." he cleared his throat as he began to wade into new waters. "Hermione. This is a significant decision for me, and for my family as well. My wife is comfortable with where we are in life, and I am not one to jump into things - your apothecary is only just getting off the ground."

She stayed silent, hoping to Merlin that he wasn't finished and mentally cracking open the champagne when he opened his mouth again.

"It's a decision that I would need to take time on and certainly I need to speak with my wife. Perhaps we could spend the remainder of our meeting discussing the research avenues that you're currently pursuing and ones you are entertaining for the future? I have had some ideas myself that would be quite ground breaking if given the chance to bring to fruition, of course I expect that yours would be of a similar calibre and..."

Hermione listened attentively, barely able to restrain her lips from widening into a catlike grin as his eyes never left hers while he spoke. He had indeed changed - there was no trace of the pompous boy of her youth left. In fact, Draco was almost a more polished and refined version of Severus himself.

She left in the best mood she'd been in all week. The effort to not skip all the way down Diagon Alley to the apothecary was too great, and so a great many fine and upstanding citizens paused and looked about them in confusion while they tried to make sense of the young, wild haired woman twirling and whooping her way down the street.

~0~

"Twenty five, you say?"

"Or twenty six. I can't remember when her birthday is."

Conan gave an appreciative whistle. The men were seated in front of the fire, the rain yet again drumming on the roof. Sunday afternoon had never come so slowly - Severus had spent the week dithering between picking up a quill and throwing himself into the ocean. Depending on the day, both options were equally as attractive at this point.

"And you've spoken to my girl, then?"

Severus swallowed and nodded. "She said I'd be a right 'eejit' if I didn't do something about H... her."

"Well, that's true. You've got yourself a friend in Maebh, don't forget tha'. But you and I, boy, we need to talk. Man to man."

"Right." Severus stared blankly at the burly man, wondering if his landlord was about to invite him for a duel or a pint. One could never really tell with Conan.

After a tense moment, the older man grinned. "How's the arse?"

"... _What_?"

"Yer not senile yet, boy. The arse! There's a place on a woman's body between her-"

"I know where a woman's arse is, Conan."

And Merlin knew that he was well aware where Hermione's was...

"So?"

With a huff, Severus looked down into his whiskey. "I am not about to _describe_ it to you. It would be... inappropriate." _And I do not like to share, you perverted sod..._

"Ghaw, Severus. Alls I'm askin' is whether there's enough to park your pint on, or if it's flat as a board. What do you think I'm going to do with the information once you tell me? It's bonding, boy."

"Bonding?" _Is that a Muggle thing?_ Shrugging, he took a sip and swirled the liquid around his mouth, his words coming out in a rush of breath, "Youcanparkabikeandbeeronit."

"I'm sorry? Park a beer? A what? Use your words, sonny Jim."

"Fuck me, Conan, I said: it's one you can park your bike in and balance a pint of beer on."

Conan's answer came in the form of a splutter and a rough cough, followed by a bellow of laughter. "Well, that's good, boy. When are you seeing her again? Yer going to have to bring her over, you know."

Cheeks a furious shade of red, Severus grimaced and shook his head. "I won't be seeing her again. She's... She's not for me." _Most definitely - she is leagues above me._

It had never been more apparent than when she'd sat with him, eyes alight with interest and passion as they'd talked over the last six years. Gesturing wildly with her hands, she told him of Australia ('so hot that the white light of the sun could be nigh on blinding'), her apprenticeship ('like a child in Honeydukes!') and even the news that he hadn't thought he wanted to know, like Potter's second child with nails like grains of rice in his mother's belly and how Ron Weasley was now playing Quidditch in Canada and hadn't spoken to Hermione in years. Apparently the two had not let their friendship morph into a relationship; Hermione had left for Australia not long after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Weasley hadn't forgiven her for never returning. Even at the time, his inward wince had surprised him - he'd covered it up with a cough, but it left him unsettled that already he was identifying with this woman, wanting to take her in his arms until the sad smile left her pink, soft looking lips.

If she hadn't wanted Weasley, why would she want him? Although, he was sure he hadn't imagined the way she'd looked at him at the kitchen table, a teasing gleam in her eyes as she glanced at him sideways under her lashes. Curious, indeed.

Conan's growl had him shaking his head minutely until he was listening again.

"Fuck off she's not! Get your head out of the sand, Severus. She came all this way to see you, suffered through your miserable company and said she enjoyed herself! Saints like that are for weddin' and beddin'. I'll tell you what - if you go and send her somethin' right now, your next month's halved."

"Halved?" Severus rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned. "Money isn't an issue, Conan, I'd pay you double if you'd let me. This is just one big sodding nightmare."

"All right, then I'm tellin' you - just go and do it! Send her somethin'. Ask her 'round. Or if you're too scared, then just leave her be and wait for the next lucky bastard to have a chance wit' her because you won't. I'm too old for this shite," he said vehemently, booming voice accompanied by a wince as he bent to push out of the chair. Severus didn't even look into his mind to know the old man was having him on, but he grabbed his elbow and shoved him back down anyway.

"Fine," he barked and stormed out of the sitting room and into his bedroom. He stared at the discarded letters he'd started over the last week, and summoned a fresh sheet of parchment with a scowl before he bent over the small writing desk and let the quill fly with barely any effort.

 _"Miss Granger,"_

Merlin's left tit! He tore the page and started again.

 _"Hermione,_

 _Allow me to congratulate you on the concoction you presented me with on Friday evening. It was well made, even though it made my bathroom smell like a boudoir._

 _SS."_

If Hermione knew him the way she seemed to, she would understand. He hoped. And if not... Well, that would be the end of it. Whatever 'it' was, anyway. A low click of his tongue had Moonshadow appearing through the rain with an answering hoot, and he attached the letter, directing the owl to the address of the new apothecary.

As he recited the address, he allowed himself a moment to think. Would Draco accept the proffered position? All it would take would be the signing of the contract for the young man to be able to formally reject the Malfoy inheritance (pitiful that it was) and be free to be contactable again. But would Draco even wish to speak to his godfather? Would he forgive him for dropping off the face of the earth, when Draco had, for all intents and purposes, run himself into the ground? It was unsettling to know that the boy he'd held as a tiny little thing was struggling so much; Severus flexed his fingers, remembering the small pink hands that curled around his thumb all those years ago... Would that boy even wish to see him again? Perhaps Lucius had finally done it - pushed his son so far that he'd wrenched him back under his iron hold, a puppet yet again. Even in Azkaban, he controlled the boy. Draco taking on Hermione's offer would be the only way such a hold could be broken, at least in the foreseeable future. Draco had to be the one to reject the magical bindings of his inheritance contract, and he would only do such a thing if he had a way to better himself.

There was a very small, yet rather loud part of him that worried over how the meeting between the two of them would have gone. Hermione seemed eager and confident, but there was no telling how Draco would react if she'd gone in with Gryffindor brashness. Severus blatantly ignored the rising of concern he felt for her, as he thought over verbal jibes Draco might have used to upset her if she came on too strong. The boy's pride had always been a sensitive button to dance around; another drink would certainly be in order if Severus was to avoid picking up the quill again to enquire as to her wellbeing.

Nerves had him storming back into the sitting room.

"Done," he said, glowering at the grey haired sod in Hermione's chair.

Conan frowned and tilted his head to the side. "That was fast," he said frankly. "What'd you use, a magic bloody pen? The postman won't be round 'til tomorrow!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus sank into his own chair and topped up their glasses. "I sent her a message text, alright old man?"

"Ha! You're the old man, you limp prick. It's a _text_ message, not message text."

"Bugger off."

~0~

 _"Dear Severus,_

 _It's delightful, isn't it? The Potions Mistress that I studied under was quite fond of improving the taste of potions, and I admit to taking on the habit. Your Sober-Up potion, for example, has proved quite the test subject._

 _Hermione."_

 _\\\_

 _"Hermione,_

 _Attempts to entice my curiosity enough to make me wish to visit your apothecary shall always fail._

 _SS."_

 _\\\_

 _"Dear Severus,_

 _Thank you for the reminder. It was not, however, meant as an effort to 'entice' your curiosity. I have included a sample with this letter and your thoughts on it are welcome. Try not to have too much fun with preparing yourself to test it._

 _Hermione."_

 _\\\_

 _"Hermione,_

 _The taste is not entirely unpleasant. I have enclosed the empty vial in return._

 _SS."_

 _\\\_

 _"Severus -_

 _Have you turned the vial into a portkey?_

 _H."_

 _\\\_

 _"Hermione,_

 _Possibly._

 _S."_

 _\\\_

 _"S,_

 _Saturday?_

 _H."_

 _\\\_

 _"H,_

 _Acceptable._

 _S."_


	8. Chapter 7: Saturday

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine, bugger!

 **A/N:** The prize for the 100th reviewer, Sassyluv, has been put up. Feel free to check out 'One Thousand and One Nights', a SS/HG one-shot of romance in the desert. Be warned, readers - here there be fluff! Everyone knows Michael Flatley, yeah? Youtube him ;-) It cracks me up that Severus knows exactly who he is, but he is very sure that he does, indeed, know the Lord of the Dance. Who am I to argue with the Potions Master? About 2 chapters to go now!

You can thank HatakeHinata for the speedy update of both this story and the new one. I received a message overnight that made me work my bum off to get this to you now instead of in the two days as originally planned. Enjoy, my friends! Fluff awaits you.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Saturday**

She came out of the water  
Into my horizon  
Like a cumulonimbus  
Coming in from the distance  
Burning and exploding  
 _Crowded House_

 _._

By the time Saturday afternoon came at her like a bludger, Hermione was frazzled, flustered and flushed. The day had flown by, filled with an endless stream of customers, orders and well meaning Professors from Hogwarts who dropped by to sate their curiosity. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she winced and tugged at a cork screw curl, glad that she'd already arranged to take the afternoon off.

She brushed her hair then jumped in the shower, indulging for once in one of her own privately made pomegranate body washes. It was for her own confidence more than anything else - there was no telling what Severus' intentions with the evening were. Did he simply wish to talk? Or did he invite her because he, too, had been thinking about her with barely any reprieve? With him in mind, she moved the cloth slowly over her body, enjoying the ruse that it was _his_ hand washing her, smoothing the suds away while his front pressed against her back and his hands ran possessively over her breasts.

With a sigh of resignation when she opened her eyes and found no other company in the steaming shower, she briskly finished washing and stalked into the bedroom. She was not so far gone that she hadn't thought to make another reason for journeying to Ireland and she shoved the dog eared Lonely Planet guide into her beaded bag first before turning to the walk in wardrobe, absentmindedly chewing on a mint cream while surveying possible choices.

~0~

Late afternoon on the Irish coast this time of year was pleasant enough. The air was filled with the scent of the just finished rain and dew drops still glistened on the grass. The sun was still poking out from its cover of clouds, bringing just enough warmth that she decided to shed her dark brown jacket and carry it over her shoulder as she walked towards the front gate.

At first glance, he was nowhere to be seen. The cottage was silent and still, though there was a faint glow coming from one of the back windows. That all changed when she took one more step that brought her into his wards, and the opening and closing of the front door on the other side of the house could be heard clearly through the quietness of the end of the day.

Taking a deep breath to quell the building nerves, Hermione smiled at the approaching figure of her former Professor and opened her mouth when he took her hand politely to greet her. She was aiming to be calm and composed, the picture of tranquillity. That aim fled like a rabbit chased by a fox when she raised her eyes from their joined hands to his face.

"Oh! Where's your beard?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she took a step forward, then stopped before her hand could reach out and touch the now smooth cheek of her former Professor. He shrugged and mumbled something about foolish Gryffindors followed by a, "Where do you think it is?"

She grinned. "Down the sink or vanished. One of those two. Is this a good time?" Holding up a bottle of elf made wine, she leaned on the still closed front gate and studied Severus. He wore almost the same set of clothes she'd seen him in last time, though this time the jumper was black; she itched to test the softness with her fingers. His hair was hanging as it normally did, but the bareness of his lower face meant that she couldn't even look at anything other than his mouth.

"It is," he confirmed and opened the gate for her. "You came prepared, I see."

Hermione looked down at the dragon hide boots that her slim back jeans were tucked into. "Well, either that or get myself stuck again," she said, breezing by him with a wide smile. "You've scrubbed up, too," she threw over her shoulder, snorting when he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glowered.

"So, what's on the menu?" she asked once he'd ushered her inside the sitting room. The whole house was filled by a mouth watering scent and the interior of the home was warm and inviting, the fire crackling and the lit candles casting a golden glow throughout the room. She sat down on the chair she'd used last time and toed off her boots so she could tuck her socked feet under her legs; strangely, she was at home and comfortable, despite only having been in the house once before. "Oysters? Suckling pig? Responsibly farmed and hand reared lamb?"

A chuckle left his mouth before he could stop it and he summoned the tea tray from the kitchen before sinking down in the other chair. "Only a roast chook," he admitted, measuring out two and a half sugars into one cup. She watched him with a coil of excitement in her belly, pleased beyond measure that he remembered how she took her tea.

"Will you tell me the story of this?" He gestured to the cup of tea that was coasting over the coffee table towards her. She smiled and took a sip.

"Interested in the story behind the sugars in my tea, Professor? Is that not too mundane for your level of intellectual prowess?"

"You'll have to let me be the judge of that. You are my guest, after all - polite 'chitchat' is expected. And I will take that as a compliment."

With flushed cheeks, Hermione bowed her head, trying to push away the nerves that were rising in conjunction with the feeling that she was enjoying herself far too much already. Summoning her courage, she looked up to meet his black eyes, incensed that she was being so obvious. The smoothness of his face was taunting her; she wanted to eat him, she wanted to drink him, she wanted him to bear her down on the navy blue rug on the floor and slide his tongue into her mouth.

Clearing her throat, she offered an innocent reply, "Well, there's not one person that I've encountered yet that doesn't have something to say about two sugars. And no matter what I say, they'll doctor it and give me less. Two and a half gets the same reaction, but they omit the half and give me two, which is was my intention all along."

"Ah," he sounded out with a rumble and leaned back in the chair, his expression unreadable. "How very Slytherin of you."

"Not in the least," she said. "It's purely regressing twenty years. I have to make up all the sweets I missed somehow. My parents are dentists, you know."

"Hm. I gave you two and a half. Not one grain was doctored."

"All the better for it, I assure you."

He hummed in acknowledgement, the sound coming from somewhere deep within his chest. For a long moment they were silent, sipping at their teas and sharing awkward glances when one would look up and catch the other's eyes already there. Severus seemed amused more than anything else and Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that she had dealt her hands far better when she'd been shoved into his sitting room with no warning, rather than having days to prepare. But that was underestimating the talents of a man that knew how to master a conversation as if he were spinning golden threads on a loom.

"Tell me of your apothecary," he ordered when they sat down at the table, the tray of roast vegetables and chicken between their plates. She smirked and filled his glass with the rich red Elven wine before attending to her own.

"Haven't you heard enough already? I must have chewed your ear off last time."

"Not nearly enough," he responded with a slow, disarming smile. "Continue."

~0~

He could talk to her for hours. Every little sound she made, a laugh or a giggle, a snort or a chortle, was delectable. Sitting across from her at the table, he found that he was wishing that this was his night _every_ night; a beautiful, intelligent woman - _Hermione -_ sharing dinner and stories that made him use considerable effort not to laugh, though his control slipped every now and then. When it did, the smile that he was rewarded with was enough to have him shift uncomfortably on his chair, glad for the high table that hid his growing erection.

He hadn't felt so alive in years.

Sod it all, the minx was beautiful. Tight black jeans that left nothing to the imagination, and dragon hide boots had never looked so enticing. While she told him about the layout of the apothecary, he was picturing bending her over the table in nothing but the shining black boots. Perhaps he'd ask her to keep her white cotton top on - it was a sinfully innocent piece of clothing, deceivingly bland from the front but the entire back was filled with patterns of lace and bare skin, save for the white line across the middle that showed him the colour of her brassiere. Gods' fuck, he was walking up to the wicket just thinking about touching one little square of soft, sun kissed skin. Clearing his throat, Severus finished the rest of the wine in one go.

"Thirsty?"

She wore only a small amount of makeup, but the subtle black lines around her eyes enhanced her cheeky wink. _If only she knew._ That was enough to have him limp again - she would run for the hills.

He grunted and offered to refill her glass, cocking an eyebrow when she declined.

"I've made plans for the evening," she explained, dropping dead weight into his stomach. "I have to be at least a little bit sober."

Severus was by nature a jealous man, though he had had enough years of conditioning himself that it no longer controlled him. Feigning unaffectedness, he asked in a measured voice, "And what are your plans? There's not much to entertain yourself with here, I'm afraid."

"Wrong!" she said, reaching over the table to swat at his arm. "I thought to go into Galway city to take a look at the Claddagh. Have a Guinness, listen to some 'trad' music."

"Good heavens, Granger," he managed to croak between dark chuckles, rather proud that he'd chosen such chaste words to cover his beguiled state. "Did you go and buy a travel guide?" He was insanely pleased by the notion that _he'd_ been the one to spark her interest, and her answering blush was filed away for later lonely nights.

"I might have," she said primly and sniffed. "In my defence, though, I thought it might be enjoyable."

"Enjoyable for whom?" Curiosity piqued, he watched her bite her lip, barely stopping his thumb from reaching out to feel the plump mouth that popped out when she released it.

"Us, of course!"

"Hm? What?" He shook his head. "What are you going on about, woman?"

 _Does she want to spend time with me?_ Me? _Merlin's standing cock! Occlude man, occlude!_

"Stop occluding." Her order was deliciously commanding, but the tightness of his jeans had him regretfully disobeying. She continued on with a smile, "I thought we could go out together. You've been here for years - you can show me some new things, surely?"

 _You bet I could._

"New things? You think they all sit around with whiskey and fiddles while warbling along to 'The Parting Glass'?" That actually wasn't too far off the mark, if one considered Conan.

"Something of the sort." She grinned dangerously. "If I'm wrong, then you'll have to prove it, won't you?"

"I don't have to 'prove' anything. I've been around since before your mother was reading you Byron Barton, witch. I've no obligation to partake in such things."

Her answering drawl brought a word to mind that he hadn't thought of in years: _sexy_. "You'll enjoy yourself - don't you think it'd be _fun_?"

"What's in it for me in return?" he asked baldly, giving in to the urge to display his well honed expression that was a mix of a sneer and a smirk. She swallowed and took a sip of her wine, gathering her thoughts.

"My company, for one," she said eventually, mock scowling at his dry snort. "But also - I'll tell you everything about my meeting with Draco. If you'd like to hear about it, that is."

She had him by the balls and she knew it. He gave it all he had, even washing the dishes and clearing the tea tray from the sitting room, dilly dallying over tidying a pile of books on the coffee table. Finally, he disappeared into his bedroom and slid his feet into his own dragon hide boots then eased his arms into a black coat. A quick look into the mirror sent him to pinch the bridge of his nose, wondering why he was acting like it was truly a _date_. He'd even shaved, for Circe's sake! The beard that had been his more than adequate disguise over the years was gone. He peered closer, slightly chuffed that he appeared younger, then harrumphed at his reflection and strode out of the room.

"Come along Hermione," he called, grinning as he noticed that she hadn't moved an inch from the dining chair. He offered her his arm and smirked when she wound her little hand around it. His voice was only just a tad hoarse when he closed the door to the house and began to lead her to the gate. Dare he ask the question? Would he be taken for a fool? He asked it anyway. "Do you trust me?"

Her answer had him dry mouthed and nervous and his hands were clammy when he pushed open the gate.

"I always have."

If he held onto her just slightly tighter than needed when he took her on the Side-Along, neither said a word.

They landed at the end of a little alleyway behind one of the guest houses in the village near Severus' home. The sky had darkened during their dinner and after a surrepticious _Lumos_ , he took a step away from her body but maintained his polite hold on her arm.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around but finding nothing that answered her question.

"Somewhere better than the city," he said, pressing down on her arm lightly to encourage her to begin to walk with him. They strolled to the edge of the street, and the buzz of triumph and satisfaction in his stomach was mightily encouraged by her little, "Oh!" of surprise.

"This is wonderful!" she crowed, looking at the quaint little village.

It was certainly a sight to see - when he'd first decided to make the journey, Severus had simply gone to Muggle newsagency and trawled through the post cards before coming across one of a peaceful looking collection of brightly coloured houses near the sea. The photo had been a few years old and by the time he actually found the place, there were more houses, white washed cottages now with small pots of flowers on the windowsills, but the overall feel was still of an area that could swallow him up and let him stay as long as he liked. He'd neglected to realise that such a small place would be teeming with gossipy harridans that could put Minerva and Poppy to shame, hence his reasoning for choosing to stay in a house that was a half hour drive away. Hermione, however, was enchanted if her bouncing feet were anything to go by.

"Well, yes," was his gruff response. "It could be worse."

"Brr!" she said immediately, wriggling against him in a way that should be illegal.

"Are you cold?" he asked politely as he led her down the street, aiming for the pub at the end, completely unprepared for her response.

"No!" She gave a little chortle and clicked her heels. "But _you_ are! Lighten up, Severus - we've got a serious job tonight, which is to get completely sloshed and perform better than Michael Flatley. Are you up to it?"

"Christ, Hermione," he groused at the giggling woman on his arm. "You've been watching Riverdance all week haven't you? I bet you've even been practicing in front of the mirror."

On cue, her dragon hide boots tapped smartly on the pavement while she twirled around, coming to a stop in front of him with wild hair that bounced around her laughing face. She was beautiful; he wanted to turn right back around and lock them both in his home and not open the door for a week.

"Fucking hell," he said instead, wiping his forehead. "Just don't do that on a table or I'll have to take off fifty points."

"Only fifty?"

"One hundred now, for your cheek _Miss_ Granger."

Her little gurgle of laughter had him chuckling in spite of himself and he exhaled in a long breath, leading her the last few steps towards the pub doors. Music could already be heard, though he couldn't discern the tune; something modern at any rate. He nodded to the secretary of the tiny local school, a portly woman with a ridiculous penchant for clove cigarettes. True to her nature, she was smoking one of the funny smelling things and eyeing Hermione with a great interest that meant her every move would be spread around the village by dawn the next day.

Trying to hide his boyish pride because of the beauty he was escorting, he looked at Hermione, decided that her smile made the inevitable oncoming discomfort worth his while, and pushed open the doors.

~0~

In truth, he enjoyed the evening more than he thought he would. Conan was there, already half pissed by the time they'd walked in the door. There was no short sense of relief when his landlord was the one to embarrass himself first, not Severus.

"Christ on a cracker, Severus," he deadpanned, before spluttering a greeting to the witch on his arm. "Yer've outdone yerself. Conan O'Sullivan, my girl; yours to command." He bowed with a flourish, then immediately sat them both down at one of the booths on the side of the room. "I'll be back!"

Hermione stared after the man heading to the bar before turning to Severus with wide eyes saying, "Who is _that_?"

"That," Severus said pointedly, gaze directed at Conan's burly back so he wouldn't look down at her breasts, "is my landlord."

"No!"

"Mmm. Yes." He accepted the pint of beer with a nod, passing Hermione's Poitín along the table. They sat beside each other and Conan drank half his glass of Guinness before shaking his head.

"S'been a long time since yer've brought a wo-"

Severus cut him off with a growl; it had the reverse effect, though, and Hermione snorted while Conan grinned smugly.

"In fact," the Irishman continued, "I don't even think yer've brought a woman here. Ever!"

Grimacing, Severus turned to Hermione after she lightly squeezed his arm while whispering, "Bottoms up!" Quite the image, that.

Resigned to the ribbing, he obliged her and downed most of his glass before returning his attention to Conan.

"There's a first time for everything, old man. That being said, I am merely a guide this evening. Hermione here has ne-"

"Her-miiiiiiiii-o-neee," Conan sounded out, red cheeks stretched with his smile. "A lovely name for a lovely girl! Never heard a name like tha' before in my life. One of a kind." He dipped his head and rose his drink in the air, ignoring Severus' groan. "A toast, then, to our gorgeous guest!"

Their drinks were finished in a matter of minutes. Conan took it upon himself to source more and when Hermione leaned closer to him, Severus let his head fall back against the back of the booth, savouring the lazy lust that spread over him when her breath ghosted over his neck. "I like him!"

"Do you now?"

He turned to answer her too quickly and found that her face was still close. His senses were filled to the brim with witch and woman; all he had to do was close the tiny distance between them and he'd feel the soft, sweet lips of his dreams against his. He fancied that her brown eyes darted to his mouth that was parted in surprise at her nearness, and he soon found that he was leaning closer to match the tilt of her head, the desire in his blood swirling and curling in a storm that only she would sate-

"Love birds!"

Conan's booming voice had them both snapping back, leaving a respectable distance between their bodies like they were fifth years caught in the corridors after dark. He crossed a leg over his knee and resolutely stared at his now full glass, sure that if he looked at her he'd see revulsion among a million other variations of disgust.

~0~

He would have kissed her. He was going to, if they'd just had five more seconds-

 _Oh, gods._

Hermione pressed her lips together and smiled at Severus' white haired landlord that plopped down opposite them with a grin. The black haired wizard himself was staring studiously at the table, his body as still as stone. She wanted to say something to break the ice, but there was no trusting her mouth to form words that didn't say: 'Finish what you started,' or 'Take me home this instant or I'll kneel under this table and chase every single virtuous thing from your mind.'

What would he have tasted like? Dinner, obviously. The tangy, sour taste of the dark beer in his hand. Perhaps even the same sandalwood scent that clung to the warm jacket he wore.

Did he even want to kiss her? It seemed that way, but Hermione knew from her own experiences that alcohol and closeness made friends do things they might not have considered under normal circumstances. But she wasn't drunk and neither was he. Despite what she'd said earlier, she did not even wish to drink much more than she already had - all she wished to do was grab his chin and pull him back.

 _In time,_ she thought. All in good time.

The trio drank and talked (or rather, she talked, Conan bellowed and Severus mumbled or muttered, depending on his mood) until the pub was full with people. Everyone was eyeing their little group in the booth, though Hermione could thank the stoic, brooding wizard beside her because no one approached save some of Conan's friends that darted away after Severus fixed them with a look similar to his morning glower in the Great Hall. She made a note to practice it in the mirror when she got home.

It was all more than pleasant - the drinks were good, the company was wonderful and she knew she wouldn't have found the name of the pub in the travel guide. Shyly, she reached over mid conversation and tapped his thigh under the table. He flinched, his eyes jerking up to meet hers before resting on the sight of her hand on his leg.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said lowly, removing her hand and returning it to her drink, only just picking up his stunned, "You are more than welcome."

The rich tones of his voice had her insides doing somersaults - it was extremely flattering to see his responding uncertain smile.

"Would you like to dance, Hermione?" Conan's loud voice cut into her thoughts. She looked up, surprised that a little band had formed in the corner of the pub, complete with the fiddles that Severus had teased her about. Meeting his black eyed gaze, his mouth quirked as if he knew what she was thinking of. Come to think of it, he probably did.

"Off you go," he said quietly into her ear to be heard over the music. He gave her space to get out of the booth, and when his hand gave her a gentle push on her lower back to guide her, she looked back at him to see two twin spots of red on his cheeks. Lavender would say he was a man for marrying, with his natural sense of politeness and chivalry. Hermione already knew her own opinion: he was a man to be loved. What woman on earth could resist the attractive planes of his face, his kind smile, and biting wit?

She certainly couldn't.

Conan was a fantastically hilarious dance partner - he whirled her around the room, light on his feet despite his massive frame. When they would pass Severus, it quickened her breath even more to see him watching them like a hawk, his black eyes trained on her hair that followed in their wake. He held her jacket over his lap and sipped his whiskey slowly and even a smile or two graced his lips when she inevitably stumbled once or twice, unable to wholly keep concentrating on the steps when his gaze was darkening by the minute. It would be so easy to love him. Far, far too easy.

"He's a good man, Severus," Conan commented when the music slowed and they had moved to the edge of a newly formed circle to watch a group of young men link their arms and dance. "Better than most."

Hermione tilted her head up to see the older man looking her way with a kind smile. It pained her to think that there might not have been anyone else to give her such a speech, and so she nodded firmly. "He is - I know it all too well."

"He's been through a shite storm, that one. He's a right bastard half of the time, and a quiet one the next. He doesn't do things by halves," he reminded her.

"No," she agreed quietly, turning to where Severus was still sitting, watching them with a puzzled expression. "He doesn't."

"Think he's keen on you, eh?" Conan waggled his eyebrows, hands linked behind his back while his foot tapped out a rhythm to match the dancing men. Hermione wasn't deceived by his act of nonchalance, even though it amused her more than anything else. It seemed that even wizards in their mid forties had wingmen.

"I've no idea," she said breezily. "You should ask him and tell me the answer."

"Now, now!" He dragged her out to dance again and ignored how Severus was rolling his eyes. "Wouldn't want to cross any lines now would I?"

"Mmm," Hermione crooned, giving in to the urge to giggle. "No. Wouldn't want that."

~0~

He Apparated them a small distance away from the cottage. Selfishly, he didn't want the evening to end, but he didn't know what to do about it. He could have asked her to tell him about Draco, like she'd offered, but it wasn't talking that he wished for. Besides, that gave him a reason to contact her again.

It was too soon to initiate physical contact, surely? Would she accept such advances? Did he have it all wrong? He could have sworn that he didn't imagine the way she looked at him over her shoulder while she danced, the way her hips swayed invitingly or the way her teeth caught her bottom lip when she caught his gaze.

In the end, she shivered against the cold and he wrapped an arm around her, tucking her against his side, forgoing a warming charm. The remaining ten minute walk was pure heaven, and it was all too short. The feeling of her slim arm snaking under his coat and around his waist stayed with him even after he bid her goodbye at the gate and watched as yet again, she walked to the border of his wards.

But even the feeling of her arm around him and her moulded to his body was trumped by what she did next. He cocked his head to the side when she stopped dead in her tracks and swivelled around. He couldn't work out what on earth was going through her mind but it soon became apparent when she sucked in a breath and strode back to stand in front of him, a fierce look of concentration on her face.

"Goodnight, Severus," she said softly and before he knew it, two warm palms cupped his cheeks and she stood on her toes to brush the lightest of kisses on his mouth.

He only managed a bewildered, "G'night Hermione," when she leaned back and beamed at him as if the sun had come out in the middle of the night, then she ran back and disappeared with a quiet crack.

Severus stayed at the gate for a long time, a hand on his mouth as he tried to rein in his thoughts - his flesh burned as if her lips had been one hundred degrees, and all he wanted was more, more, _more_.

It would be so easy to love her.


	9. Chapter 8: Role Reversal

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine!

 **A/N:** You'll see what I mean by the way I end this chapter, but a lot of the next will be from Severus' POV and thus shall be explained further. The next chapter will be the last, unless I run out of room heheh. Thank you to everyone for following, reading and reviewing this story – I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I've read over this, but if there are any mistakes other than where I've obviously lost the fight with one of the scene dividers, forgive me – I'm using word for the first time on this new laptop as I've been stuck with a notepad thing for too long and when transferring most of this chapter to the new program, it double spaced everything and I'm editing 17 pages instead of… whatever it would've normally been. Whoops.

A little note here - I know that Draco having a Patronus is iffy canon-wise, but hey, this is AU land now. ;-)

The last scene is dedicated to my smutty soul mate and sexy-times extraordinaire, Lystan.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Role Reversal**

This youthful heart can love you

And give you what you need

But I'm too old to go chasing you around

Wasting my precious energy

 _Tracy Chapman_

.

It took Severus a week to acclimatise his body and mind with the notion that a beautiful witch had kissed him; pressed her soft, pink lips to his in a gentle caress that he could still feel now, so many days afterwards. He contemplated it when he drunk his strong, unsweetened black coffee in the mornings, when he tried out a cup of tea with two and a half sugars and inevitably gagged, and, perhaps most notably and indeed pathetically, when he bowed down to primal urges and took himself in hand.

There were many times in his life that he'd felt inadequate, filled to overflowing with shortcomings. But at least he could lay claim to having had the pleasure of burying himself inside a woman, clutching her buttocks in his long fingers and hearing moans of satisfaction that _he_ had been responsible for. Yes, he knew such things, even though it would no doubt shock and stun almost everyone who'd ever come into contact with him.

Hermione was different. Severus' long strides around Conan's farm paused as he considered this point: yes, she was a very different woman to any he'd had before. It might have been years (almost too many to count), but he still remembered just where to circle his finger to coax his partner to bliss, and there was no chance in the seven layers of hell that he'd forget what it felt like to have hot, wet walls clenching around him.

He was not a stranger to sex. Sex for mutual pleasure, in any case. He was a stranger to _this_.

"And what is 'this'?" he asked himself quietly, resuming his pace. Every morning he walked around the farm, using his feet over the strange looking contraption that Conan rode around on. It was almost mindless, to check the animals, the fences. It was certainly not mindless today.

Severus was at a loss. She'd kissed him. Kissed. _Him_.

As if she hadn't done enough for him, what with saving his life, now she was presenting her lips to him like the temptress she unknowingly was. _This_ seemed like... like friendship, or a little bit more. Not love - no, they were both careful, a war would do that to someone. But he saw in her a woman that he _could_ love - that he might even want to. And, blissfully, there was a choice in it; there was no teenage false bravado that wrenched the feelings out as if they'd been crafted with the intention to humiliate. Absolutely everything about Severus' life in the last five years had been the results of his own choices. It was liberating; being alone was not the curse that it could have been. It was freeing. Could he give it up?

She came to him once during the week that he spent in a state of indecision. Not much was said - it was a Thursday morning, the apothecary was due to open in two hours. A late morning so the night could be spent trading. Hermione sat with him in the sitting room then walked around the cottage. He stayed inside by the kitchen window and watched her discover the lands around them and when she looked over her shoulder at him, he didn't pretend to hide that he'd been following her every move. Her answering faint smile was everything he'd ever wanted to see on a woman's face - surely it was too good to be true. There was desire in her whiskey coloured eyes, and pride, and even a sense of pure happiness. That he had inspired such feelings seemed impossible, but she was proving him wrong. His knees creaked when he left the warmth of the house, but he did so anyway.

"I can understand why you'd never want to leave such a place," she'd said when he finally ventured outside and handed her a cup of tea. They stood together facing the roaring ocean so far below their feet. "But why the portkeys? The cottage isn't unplottable, is it?"

"No," he agreed. "The portkeys..." He scratched at his chin, still unused to bare cheeks. "The only people who come here regularly are Minerva and Poppy."

"And?"

"They come a few hours after the students have left on the train. Minerva's usually too pissed by then to Apparate and neither of them can read Muggle maps to get their way here in any other form."

"Ooh!" Her little inner schoolgirl was unleashed, and she rubbed her hands together with a wicked smile. "What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall."

"No," he said flatly. "Maybe one day. But for now, no. I think you'll run screaming in the other direction if you spend one night here with those two witches."

Humming, Hermione kicked the grass with one of her boots and grinned. "All right. I won't run, then."

Her words had him grinning like a first year before he spluttered something unintelligible and maintained his serious study of the water below.

Thankfully, she kept up the conversation, unpassed by Severus' loss of tongue. "Will you send me co-ordinates, then? I'm happy to Apparate but I was thinking it might be nice to have a little driving holiday when I can manage to take time from work in a million years or so. There's so much that I haven't _seen."_

"You can drive around England, you know," he said gruffly, glad that she rolled her eyes and ignored the way he was covering just how much he hoped that what she wanted involved him.

"I can't. Really. George has managed to charm my licence – any car I drive is automatically charmed to have a glittering marijuana leaf on the whole of the back window, filled with 'Fuck the Wizengamot'. I stopped counting how many times the Aurors _and_ plods have pulled me over."

Severus found that he couldn't answer – he was far too busy folded half over and roaring with laughter, immeasurably glad that his cheeks were already pink with the effort because when she began to giggle and hold onto his shoulder to steady herself, he could blame the laughter for being short of breath instead of the nearness of her.

"Jesus H. Christ, Granger," he choked out, holding onto his stomach. "I mean… fuck. Fucking hell. I'm not sorry for you in the slightest – that's rather brilliant."

"Sod off! It's not! I've tried getting a replacement license and it _still_ doesn't remove the charm. An international one is my next try, hence the driving holiday. Stop laughing. Back to the cottage and never wanting to leave...?"

"Fine, fine." He appeased her with daring to place a hand on her shoulder, leaving it there then slowly running it down her arm. By the time he reached her hand, Hermione was biting her lip and blushing a pleasing shade of pink. He could get used to such a sight. He _wanted_ to get used to it.

"It is better than I thought it would be," he admitted, lulled by her steady presence at his side. She was wearing dark grey robes that billowed in the wind in a way that seemed humorously familiar. He took his hand from hers, satisfied that he'd tried and tested physical touch with her and somewhat succeeded. It was a lesson in restraint and it was needed – by all the gods, all he wished to do at that moment was take her in his arms and kiss her until he couldn't breathe.

"That's because you thought it would be hell."

Severus turned to Hermione, ready to glower, scowl and order her away because of her perceptiveness. But she looked at him with a challenging cocked eyebrow that aroused him instead of incensed him. _Interesting, indeed._

"You may be right," he allowed. "It was so silent here, in the first few months. It _was_ like hell - or what my own hell would have been like, in any case."

"Lots of rum and whiskey and motivational music?" She was eyeing his old and faded Cat Stevens shirt. This time, he did glower.

Hermione laughed into the wind, a silly little laugh filled with snorts and chortles before she said, "Oh, give over, Severus. You named your owl 'Moonshadow'. I'm not even jesting - it's quite fitting."

"Fitting, hmm? How so?"

"Well, you know." She flicked her hair off her shoulder in a practiced movement, and then sung under her breath, " _'If I ever lose my legs, I won't moan and I won't beg.'"_

Flustered, he coughed. "I'm flattered," he settled with saying, hoping that she'd mistake his honesty for something else so she wouldn't know that he really _was_ bloody flattered that she'd associate such words with him, of all men. "'Morning Has Broken', then?"

"What do you take me for? Miss Priss?" She gave a dainty little sniff and sipped her tea. "'Wild World', if you must know."

Oh, the things he was envisioning now - _I never want to see you sad girl, don't be a bad girl._

He couldn't resist the chance to see her sparking, beautiful indignation. Undaunted, he pressed gleefully further, "And? Something more optimistic, I'm sure."

"'Peace Train'," she grumbled, huffing at his bark of laughter. "You bloody old grump."

When she took her leave, he leaned his body against the gate with hands in his pockets. There was no last minute dash to kiss his lips; rather she seemed to know that he wasn't exactly _sure_ just what his thoughts were on the matter. Instead, Hermione touched his arm and grinned - a confident, secret grin that looked terribly enticing on her youthful face. It was what he needed; knowing that there were no expectations between them was enough to have him smirking back at her like he was a wolf that was only waiting to lure her daisy chain kisses into his den.

Severus wanted her - perhaps wanted her more than anything he'd thought of in the last decade. Maybe even longer. She seemed to reciprocate the feeling, though there was something missing, some form of connection that he desired before stepping down from the pyre to embrace life again.

It was, he thought as he trudged back down the lane to his cottage in the early morning light, having found no reason to stay out on the farm, a risk to leave his sanctuary, his safe haven. It almost would have been easier to die - at least in that way, redemption would have come eventually. Living, though... Living was harder. He was comfortable now, keeping his environment controlled; he knew that he wanted something more, something to draw him out to her, to Hermione. Something bigger than attraction, heavier than the substantial weight of pleasure that he held onto for days after her visits. He owed it to her - he would be a fool to encourage his feelings towards her if he was going to back off at the last minute. He would have done such a thing ten years ago, when he believed that nothing good would ever come to him. Merlin, even if she'd come across him _five_ years ago he probably would have ranted and raved to push her away at the smallest hint that she might have been the instigation for change when all he had ever wanted was stability.

She'd shown him that that wasn't entirely true, though he was still determined to grow enough balls to make sure that he could give himself to her in his entirety, if she wished it.

But how could he get to such a point? He was still as shy as a fourteen year old sod, and she was so alluring that he was speechless more often than not. How could he even begin to examine his feelings so he could be sure that he would be doing right by her?

He had to know if he could love her, because Merlin knew that he was not about to take this any further if he couldn't. Fuck his wants and physical needs, he would _not_ be that man again, the one that brought everyone else down with him when he was in a snit. Oh, he would get in snits, and so would she, but he had to be convinced that he was in deep enough to weather them before he approached her. It was the honourable thing to do and if he was going to be a new man then he'd bloody well do it so she could have the person that she deserved.

He let himself in and eyed the empty sitting room, suddenly not feeling content at all with her absence. There had to be _something_ , some _way_ to know whether he was less fucked than he thought, surely? Some way to have the surety that he wasn't just latching onto her because she was amazing and kind and un-fucking-believably beautiful.

He couldn't bollocks this up. He wouldn't.

And, unwittingly, Hermione solved the dilemma for him.

~0~

She'd given Draco a generous month to make his decision. In the end, he came to her a week early, dressed in simple black robes with a shrunken briefcase in his pocket.

Hermione opened the door for him, raising an eyebrow at his chosen time of arrival.

"We're due to open in ten minutes," she said after his formal bow over her hand. "I don't have much time to chat - do you want to have a meeting over lunch?"

Draco stepped inside and let her close the door behind him, all the while looking around the apothecary. "It's not what I had expected," he admitted, gesturing to the orderly presentation of jars and cauldrons and everything else that a Potions maker could possibly need. In truth, Hermione had modelled it off the ever growing Muggle book superstores – never ending bookcases, wide aisles, calm and gentle lighting.

"It's better, isn't it?" Hermione said, arms crossed at her chest as she leaned against the closed door and saw the quirking of his mouth. "You can admit it. Otherwise you wouldn't have come in time to start for the day. I'm right, aren't I?" she added as he turned around in surprise.

Letting out a breath, his shoulders sagged. It was not immediately apparent whether his tone was laced with relief or something else, but he replied with a faint, almost reticent smile. "It is... better. Professional, even."

"What were you expecting? Pink shelves and fairy floss in bottles?"

He snorted and rubbed the back of his neck, suitably chastened. "No, but you mentioned that Lavender-"

"Draco bloody Malfoy!"

They both turned to where Lavender was standing behind the register, her glasses now charmed a fiery red to match her crimson robes. One long, pink nail tapped on the wooden counter.

Draco took a step back when he saw her thunderous expression then muttered under his breath to Hermione, "I can see this was a mistake. I'll leave, I apolog-"

"Turn around this instant!" Lavender said primly and beckoned to him with one finger. "Come closer, if you will."

Hermione held her hands up when he stared at her incredulously then made a show of taking her wand out of its sheath on her wrist. Draco's face flushed a bright, furious red but his indignation quickly changed into a squawk of surprise when his simple robes met with Lavender's own wand as she removed the charm he'd placed, reverting them back to a flowing set, coloured a deep emerald green.

"That's better," Lavender said softly, coming out from behind the counter. Setting her shoulders, she walked determinedly forward with her hand outstretched. Hermione bit back a grin as she observed the two, fighting the urge to dance around the shop with the knowledge that she'd _done_ it. Everything was coming together and it was _brilliant_.

"Miss Brown," Draco said formally as he took her hand with a grimace that both women knew was a cover for his lack of confidence. He bowed over her hand but stopped halfway, distracted by the familiar drape of his robes.

"That's right," Lavender smiled. "We're all equals here."

Recognising Draco's sneer for the armour that it was, Hermione was unfazed when he said, "And why would I wish to be _equal_?"

Lavender snorted and reached out an arm when Hermione skirted around the tall, pale man. Linking her own arm around her assistant's, she shot Draco an elaborate wink. "Get to work, Draco. The lab is upstairs, my own list of jobs for the day is on the work bench and you can start on the first half of it. I trust you'll familiarise yourself with the layout of everything. We'll start slowly - you can work half days this week while we hash everything out, joint responsibilities and the like."

"Half days?" Draco echoed.

"At full pay," Hermione responded, smirking when Draco shook his head.

"I don't want your pity, Miss Gr-"

"Draco?" She tossed her hair out of her face and planted a hand on her hip. "Bugger off and get to work."

If Draco noticed the two witches silently squealing and jumping up and down while he walked up the stairs, then he wisely mentioned nothing. It wasn't like he could - he was too busy sending his Patronus to his wife, telling her he'd be home in time for dinner for the first time in years. For once, conjuring the hawk was effortless.

* * *

He had arrived on Tuesday and by Saturday afternoon, Hermione was equally satisfied and frustrated by her decision to hire the man. Draco's work ethic was faultless, as was his skill for brewing. That was, of course, not what was bothering her.

"Uncle taught me most of what I know," he said in an offhand way while they worked on opposite ends of the work bench, three cauldrons already simmering between them. "The apprenticeship was child's play compared to what he used to make me do during the summer holidays."

Hermione barely looked up from her chopping board, glad that she could direct her confusion to the ingredients. It was more disconcerting than it should have been - working beside the man that was a constant reminder of the _other_ man that was more than likely sitting in a wingback chair in a small Irish cottage, reading a book whilst Hermione sent her mind into overdrive.

The hardest thing was that she was determined to step back now, and let _him_ come to _her_ if he wanted to. She had chased him enough – gods knew that she wanted him, every inch of him even, but she was determined to be patient. No matter how awfully difficult it was.

The entirety of her skin felt as if it were aflame with desire for Severus, something that was both new and exciting. It had been over a year since a man had shared her bed and she was already aware that there would be no comparison between the hurried fumbling of the grand total of three men of her past. Brewing had become difficult; instead of finding comfort in the methodical preparations, it was... arousing.

When she stirred and counted each turn under her breath, it was Severus that she thought of, his long fingers gripping the rod, smoothing over it when direction needed to be changed. Slicing, chopping and peeling were not safe at all, for they merely worked to conjure the image of the black haired man as he ran his hands over each ingredient to check for blemishes, or tossed them into a cauldron with such a look of concentration that it made her wonder whether he'd examine her body in such a way.

Where would he start? Her breasts, she hoped - already the tender skin was tightening under her robes just pondering what it might feel like to have his tongue, so often used to chastise and instruct, darting out to lap at her. If only there were two of him, two heads of black silken hair at each breast to pleasure all of her at once-

"Granger? Hermione?"

"Hmm? What?"

"Where were you? You've been standing there with this look on your face-"

"What look? I don't look like anything. There's no look."

Draco scoffed. "I'm married, Hermione. Do you think I don't know what it looks like when a woman thinks about-"

"All right, all right!" She glowered at him and pressed her lips together to stop a laugh escaping when he snickered. Ron would have been reaching for his wand, but Hermione was surprised by just how quickly she had gotten used to Draco's company. "You're in a good mood today," she said, batting away his snort of laughter.

"Your skills of manipulating conversations leave much to be desired," he said with a sideways grin. "But, yes. I am in a good mood today."

"And...?"

"And what, Hermione? Do you wish to know _why?_ "

"Don't make me beg, Draco. Don't forget, I punched you quite thoroughly once," she said stiffly. "As you can see, I'm in need of distractions. Give me one, if you please."

He shrugged and said, "As you wish."

She set down her knife and turned to him, waving a stasis charm over their work. "Truly?"

"For Merlin's sake, Granger. Put the kettle on. I'll get the biccies. Go on. What were your words yesterday? Oh - yes. 'Bugger off' and get started on the tea."

If his relaxed attitude was very different to her expectations, so was the ease with which he settled into the chairs in the library and began to tell her just why he had come into work with a smile from ear to ear.

"I've severed the final link between Father and I," he announced between mouthfuls of almond biscuits. "He had me on a bit of a leash, see, and to keep my inheritance I had to follow all of these ridiculous rules. Now, I've stuck my proverbial finger up at him, if you catch my drift."

"But he's in Azkaban!" Hermione exclaimed. "He's in for life, isn't he? How did he even get such a hold on you in the first place?"

Draco shook his head and corrected her with a wry smile, "Twenty years, not life. But... yes. It's a valid question... the Malfoy name isn't what it once was, at least in terms of financial standing. Father paid a fair stack of galleons in fines and then housing the Dark Lord for so long put a dent in it all, too. Then he made the contract after he was sentenced, knowing that I'd prefer to take the money and run rather than keeping up a relationship with him. The only job I could find was Durmstrang, no one else wanted to taint their reputations by hiring... well, myself."

"So you didn't want to? Maintain a relationship with him, I mean."

"Gods, no." He gave a delicate shudder. "Why? Mother still can't sleep at night - she stays with Astoria and I, she can't even step inside the old Manor. She barely leaves our house. I couldn't see it before, but now I just wish that Father wasn't so spineless - he should've gone over with Uncle Severus. The whole thing was a crock of shite. I know that he was trying to protect us in his own way, but he cared about the Malfoy name _more_ than keeping Mother's sanity. Anyway, what with supporting Mother and Astoria, and paying off the rest of the debts, I needed the extra money from the inheritance. A teacher's wage is just a bloody pittance, in case you were wondering."

"Why do you think I opened the business?" Hermione crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, eager to keep talking. "I still can't believe it's all worked out so well. And, you know, the salary... your salary... there's no pity in it. I - _we_ need you. You can see how busy we are; there was no question that we were going to need you. Circe, it was either you or prostrating myself before Slughorn."

Draco nodded slowly, running his index finger around the rim of his cup. She gave him a moment to digest the information and then cleared her throat, looking at him pointedly and grinning when he sighed in mock exasperation.

"Yes. Well," he mumbled and shrugged again. "It was nice to be needed, I won't deny it. It was Astoria, of all people, who didn't want to end the contract with Father. She worries that I'll regret it. But it was time for it - when he gets out, he'll see that he no longer has control over Mother and I. Perhaps he will have changed."

"Or worsened," Hermione muttered. "Let's drink to him, shall we?" With a smirk, she walked behind the desk and reached into the top drawer to slide out the bottle of brandy that Minerva had brought over as a gift to celebrate the opening of the store. Ignoring Draco's arched brows, she gave both cups a generous splash. "To your father," she began, lifting her cup in the air. "May he regret being a whey-faced wanker."

"And to you," Draco countered, blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "May you get the rogering you so obviously wish for."

"Pah! Say, now..." Hermione blinked and stared at Draco, her mouth opening wider and wider as she processed her thoughts.

"What? Granger, you'll catch flies. Close your mouth."

She closed her mouth with a click. "You've renounced the contract, yes?"

"Y-eee-s?"

"Was that contract... restricting your social life? Estranging you from distant familial obligations?"

"Eh?"

She shuffled closer and shoved the brandy bottle into his hands, aware that she was heading into uncharted waters. "Did the contract keep you from having a relationship with... with your godfather?"

He blew out a breath and unscrewed the bottle, took a swig and rested his palms on his knees. "It did. Yes. For over five years now, I haven't heard from him or seen him."

Hermione let her head fall onto the back of the chair with a faint thud. "Gods," she sounded out. "What a nightmare. Sometimes I wish men would just get them out and measure, instead of having pissing contests all over town. How utterly shit for you, Draco. He's missed you, you know."

"Sorry, Hermione - who has missed me? And no one's pissing anywhere, unless you count Father trying to make up for a certain appendage that might... fall short."

"Oh." She wrinkled her nose and snorted. "I assumed your Father and Severus had some sort of an argument. Why else would he forbid you to have contact?"

"It's nothing more than Father wanting to control everything. He's still smarting that Uncle got away in the end. He's the only one of us that hasn't stepped foot in Azkaban."

" _This_ time around," Hermione reminded him and Draco pursed his lips and nodded.

"Yes, this time. I don't share Father's opinions, Hermione. That's obvious, isn't it?"

"Oh, of course it is," she said immediately, gesturing to his tea cup. "Drink up. You're not your father, and thank everything under the sun for that. My point, now that I've got enough stone to make it, is that I've... I've been talking t-to Severus. Snape. I've been talking to Snape. Professor Snape."

"Merlin's balls! You?" Draco whistled through his teeth. "Didn't think you had it in you. How'd you bring him back from the dead? I confess to being so envious that I'd take some polyjuice right now if he couldn't smell it a mile away." He swallowed and turned away to stare out the window, taking in the grey skies above the city. In a softer voice, he added, "How is he?"

"He wants to see you." Hermione wasn't even sure that she was speaking the truth - there was every possibility that Severus might never wish to see one wink of her again after taking such a liberty. The man obviously valued his privacy.

Regardless - she couldn't resist. What if she was right?

"I think we should go," she said firmly.

Draco blinked slowly. "Go where? Don't dangle this in front of me if you can't deliver, Hermione." He ran a hand through his blonde hair, an uncharacteristically nervous action. "Where is he?"

With relief, she set her cup down and shook her head. This she could give Severus - if he wished to let anyone else in then what was up to him. But she wasn't above knocking on the door. Her voice was gentle when she offered her reply, "It's not for me to say. But I'll take you, if you want. Now."

"Now?" Draco looked down at his lap, then back at her. The steely determination and fervent hope in his eyes was encouraging. "Now... now. Yes. Now. But just tell me one thing while I'm pouring this into my mouth so I don't piss myself, I'm that bloody nervous. And don't tell anyone that I said that. Not a soul."

"Bugger off, you know I'll tell anyone I want if this goes well," she said, smirking as he took a long drink directly from the bottle then released the rim with an audible pop. "What is your 'one thing'?"

"Well," he began, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "it's curious, isn't it? Out of everyone in Britain, you're the one he's choosing to spend his time with."

"Make your point, Draco."

He coughed, as if her scowl confirmed wherever his thoughts were heading. "This is him, isn't it? He's _it_. Uncle Severus is _it_."

"It? What? Get your cloak, by the way. We're leaving the country – oh, don't look so worried, it's not _that_ far. Hang on, I'll get my coat. Right - who's it?"

By now they stood on the little balcony outside the greenhouse, having climbed the stairs while shoving arms through their warm coverings. "Side-Along?" She offered her elbow.

"Obviously."

"Oh, whatever. Who's it? What are you going on about?"

Draco cleared his throat and shot her a roguish grin that took her straight back to Hogwarts. She cocked an eyebrow and sneered before taking his arm. Unperturbed, he leaned down and said into her ear, "This is the one you want to roger you senseless!"

She squawked with disgruntlement and stamped her foot. "My business is my own, Draco sodding Malfoy. Now do shut up or I'll Side-Along you so hard that you'll be vomiting over your boots."

"They're dragon hide boots, Granger! Wha- oh, _fuck_!" In a flash, she jerked him to the Irish coast and stepped back, metaphorically and physically wiping her hands of her companion who was currently trying to maintain his dignity while spluttering with laughter and dry retching into the grass.

"Where _are_ we?" he asked when he'd managed to compose himself. They looked around together, seeing nothing but green, rolling hills dotted with livestock. Peacefulness settled over Hermione like a glove - it felt like coming home. Severus' cottage was just over the next hill, where they would see the water stretching out like smooth, blue glass. She was nearly dancing on the spot.

"We, Mister Malfoy, are in Ireland! Now hurry up. This might be the last time we speak – I might be dead in a few minutes if I'm wrong and he despises your little hide after all. I'm eager to find out."

~0~

 _Oh, gods._

She would never forget it. Never.

She'd done the right thing – how could she have doubted herself? _Oh, Severus._ It almost hurt to see such a private moment; she should have let Draco walk over the final hill on his own, left him to wait at the back gate.

Severus had walked out of his cottage slowly, wand raised in a natural reaction to the unfamiliar presence at the border of his wards. At first, he smiled at her so gently that it felt like her chest would burst – then he'd spotted Draco.

Unsure of himself, the younger man had stayed to the side, fidgeting with the hem on his robes. Neither wizard said a word. Draco did not raise his head from where it was directed at the ground.

Hermione hesitantly took a few steps backwards and gestured to Draco, tilting her head towards Severus to encourage her colleague to _move_ , _do_ something, _say_ something. But it didn't matter, in the end.

A silent spell sent the gate flying open and the shock of the rush of air made Draco's head snap up, finally locking his apprehensive blue eyes with Severus' own stunned pair of black.

Hermione had tried so damn hard to keep her wits about her – stay calm, maintain careful composure. Yet all propriety was promptly thrown out the window when Severus strode through the gate and grabbed onto Draco's shoulders. He kept him at arm's length, his eyes roving over Draco's face and then his body, taking in everything from the new wrinkles on his face to the fraying hem on his work robes.

Severus coughed thickly as if clearing his throat for speech, his eyes falling shut as he took a deep breath in. He opened his eyes, Draco hung his head and Hermione took a step back as the moment became all too private when the younger man sniffed and then threw his arms around Severus' taller frame, the Potions Master freezing then almost simultaneously exhaling with relief as he returned the embrace with as much emotion as a father might have when greeting a long missed son.

Without a word, Hermione smiled at the two men, not bothering to discern who was sobbing and who was comforting, then turned on her heel and disappeared with a soft crack.

~0~

An hour later, Lavender, Ginny and Hermione stood at the counter and watched over the ground floor of the apothecary. They were closed on Sundays and Mondays, and Saturday afternoons always meant that the rows of shelves were teeming with customers until the decision had been made to open until the early evening.

Hermione had arrived back from Severus' cottage with a beaming, trembling smile as tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. Neither Ginny nor Lavender had managed to uncover the reason why, and soon after they waved her away upstairs.

"What do you think _that_ was all about?" Lavender asked Ginny when the store was nearly empty. They were only a half hour away from closing and both witches were beginning to pack up their bags.

"Not sure," Ginny responded, though her smile was a knowing one. "She's happy, though. So it's something good. Something to do with – oh. _Oh_. Oh, shite! Lavender! _Look_!"

Lavender turned towards the door at Ginny's hissed expletive and gulped. A man stood in the doorway, quietly looking over the shop. If the shoulder length black hair and too fair skin weren't giveaways, the undisguised pride and surprise in his eyes as he took in the apothecary showed, beyond a doubt, to be the man that had her best friend head over heels.

"Professor Snape," Lavender breathed as the tall man walked into the store, eyeing the two women with narrowed, speculative eyes. He'd barely aged a day – if anything, he looked _younger._ His face was softer, and while his hair had some streaks of grey, he looked… _good_. "H-hello. Good evening, I mean. Or… erm. Hullo."

"Good evening, Miss Brown," he said slowly, his tone curiously warm. "And Mrs… Potter. Good evening."

Ginny blinked, giving a more than adequate impression of a fish as her mouth opened and closed. Finally she managed to squeak, "Upstairs!"

"Pardon?" Snape's thin black brows furrowed and he walked closer to the women, peering at them as if examining their countenance. "Are you quite all right?"

"Upstairs, upstairs," Ginny repeated, staring holes into his soft looking black jumper and dark grey jeans. "Up… erm. Up. Hermione. There."

"Ah." He rocked back on his heels and nodded his head. "Miss Granger is upstairs, I take it."

"Yes, yes!" Lavender said hurriedly, sticking her hand in the air to show him where the stairs were. "Yes. Upstairs. Alone. Up. Yes."

"Right…" He made to walk to the back of the store, then turned to see the witches watching him with their eyes fit to bust, both wearing matching pairs of winged spectacles. "My thanks for your… very _verbose_ assistance."

"Ginny!" Lavender scolded as soon as his back was to them again. "Hermione! We have to warn her!"

"Is a fuck supposed to be given here?" Ginny shot her a cheeky wink. "No time anyway. Let him at her!"

"Oooh! Certainly not, no fucks at all! I like your style, Ginny Weasley. Now, for more pressing matters, lean a little to the right for me-"

"You just want to check out his arse in those jeans!"

"He's taking the stairs two at a time, Gin! Allow a woman the chance to appreciate such a view! This trumps that wet shirt scene that Hermione was watching on repeat last month. What was that film? Pride and something. 'Pride and Polyjuice'?"

"Don't know, don't care. Irrelevant, obviously."

The witches turned in unison and watched the aforementioned arse bounding up the stairs.

"He's very eager. Hmm," Lavender drawled, tapping the counter with shining pink nails. "Quite a sight, wouldn't you say?"

The two women leaned further past the counter then jumped back when Snape whirled at the last minute and fixed them with his best scowl. "My face is up here, ladies," he growled and stalked around the landing to continue up the last flight of stairs, disappearing from view.

"I don't care if he assigns me detention for a year," Lavender said dreamily. "That was utterly worth it."

Ginny made a humming sound then sucked in a breath of shock, turning to Lavender and wringing her hands. "Shite, Lavender! I just realised – she's in such a good mood! We should've warned her!"

"Ooh, fuck a duck!" Lavender clapped her hands over her mouth. "You know what she's like. She'll have Tracy Chapman on, no bra. I bet she's already reading on the toilet. Merlin's pants, what should we do?"

"It's a test. A test," Ginny said firmly. "He's here for her, obviously. If he can't handle a braless bookworm, then he's not for our Hermione then, is he?"

"I hope for her sake he can, though. I mean, gosh. That arse…" Lavender shouldered her bag and herded the rest of the customers out, closing the door with a wave of her wand.

"Yes…" Ginny sighed and reset the wards before beginning the walk down the street with Lavender in tow. "Good thing it's a weekend for us, now. Although I'm not sure I'm going to survive waiting two whole days before we find out what's happened!"

"Don't say a word to anyone," Lavender cautioned her. "George will probably set up those hidden camera things he's testing out."

Ginny voiced her agreement and took one last look at the now shadowed apothecary. The following smile that stretched over her lips was anything but innocent, and the two witches Apparated, leaving only smug giggles in their wake.


	10. Chapter 9: If Not Now, When?

**Sod the disclaimer!**

 **A/N:** I think that, after the comments on the last chapter, I should just change the entire description of this story to the Society of Appreciating Severus' Arse, eh?

Here we are at the end. A very bittersweet thing, as I have enjoyed writing this very, very much. This is a loo-ooo-oong chapter compared to my usual ones; perhaps I should have cut it into two, but I didn't want to make you wait anymore. So it is essentially two chapters in one. Now's the time to say that this entire story was inspired by Ani DiFranco's beautiful song, 'As Is', as well as some other wonderful pieces that I've mentioned at the start of other chapters.

Note: the Wild Atlantic Way is a gorgeous scenic drive around the coast of Ireland. Google it!

I have begun another SS/HG story, though I am not sure when/if I'll pop it up. But do expect to see a few one-shots popping up at some point. Feel free to add me to your Author alert list, as I have fallen down the rabbit hole badly with this pairing, so there will definitely be more to come in the near future. I'm just deciding whether or not I have the balls to continue working on this time travel story, destination 1989. If I do, well, that'll come first. Otherwise, yes, more stuff soon!

As always, I'd love to hear/read your thoughts on the story. The best part of writing this has been interacting with you all, it's bloody wonderful. Thank you. Here be angst, lemons and a boat load of fluff to say just how grateful I am to you all.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: If Not Now, When?**

I've got no illusions about you

And guess what? I never did

And when I say, when I say I'll take it,

I mean,

As is.

 _Ani DiFranco_

.

Severus stared at the spot where his godson had been only moments before. The grass was still slightly flattened from the familiar black dragon hide boots he thought he'd never see again, and even now Draco's scent clung to his clothes.

His jumper was damp at the shoulder, though he'd never admit that it was not only his godson's tears that had been absorbed by the old, knitted garment. How had it come to this? How had it been that only a few short months ago, he believed himself content with quiet existence and self-enforced solitude?

The answer lingered in the air, withstanding the cool, insistent wind – a hint of pomegranate, some rose water and _Hermione._

Of all the people in the world - of all the _luck_ in the world, somehow his heart had been ripped out, packaged nicely with a crimson ribbon, and served back to him in the hopes that the woman responsible for his shit eating grin would accept that he was torn between every single wish he could think of: to love her, to be with her, have her for his lover, to marry her, to make her his… It was endless.

What had he done to deserve such a thing? His reward for his exploits was right behind him; a home where no one could follow, no one could find him unless he wished it. But it was far above his desserts to have _this._ And he knew what 'this' meant: Hermione. An astoundingly intelligent woman, steadfast in her support of him and daring enough to push his boundaries to give him the only other thing his heart desired apart from her: his godson.

Severus wiped a hand over his face, unable to contain his smile. How well she knew him – to give him the boy, to throw her hands up and say 'sod it all' to his reservations and do what she thought he needed anyway.

Beautiful, impertinent woman.

It took him ten minutes to create a plan, then dismiss it as foolhardy, then make another, followed by one more. Eventually he simply changed his jumper to the one he'd worn to take her into the village, waved a hand to extinguish the candles in the cottage and stalked back out to the gate. There were no second thoughts now – fuck the rest of the Wizarding world, Diagon Alley and immersing himself in the population again. If anyone recognised him as he strode down the street that had barely changed in the years since he'd left, no one said a word. Not that he was able to focus on anything else bar the subtle, unobtrusive silver sign above the newly opened apothecary, the only hint that it belonged to her being the smaller cursive letters in the corner underneath the large lettered name: 'HG, GP, LB, DM'.

If anyone noticed that he laughed out loud when seeing his godson's initials on a sign for the first time, they could simply bugger off.

Fuck it all, because he was going to see the woman that he would make _his._ But not before he could make her see that he was hers, if she'd have him.

The apothecary was almost perfect. There were changes he would make, ingredients that he'd move, bottles that should be _here_ instead of _there,_ but he looked around with pride, knowing that it was his Hermione that had created such a place.

When had she become 'his' Hermione? Severus suspected that it began with the Shrieking Shack. No one had come for him – no one but her. He had been unconscious for the most part, jerking awake in hazy moments of blinding pain and confusion, but he could remember enough to know that his admiration had kick started with a full foot on the pedal when she had physically shielded his body like the lioness she was, demanding that he be treated and if he wasn't then they'd damn well have to kill her first before touching a hair on his head.

He had heard her, of course. Heard her soothing whispers, felt her hands gently pushing his hair away from his forehead. He'd heard it every night since, in the dreams that had haunted him at first, and then simply _reminded_ him that there was a woman out there in this great big world that had cared enough to stay with him. The dreams had left him when she arrived again, but he could still remember her at his bedside.

Afterwards, she inevitably collapsed. Almost as soon as his eyes opened, hers closed and then he was the comforter and she the invalid. There was no forgetting the looks he received from staff and strangers alike while he sat with the girl, holding her hand in a subpar attempt to give her the solace that her own soothing voice had imparted on him.

He'd left when her fingers twitched at the sound of his voice. Why, Severus was still unsure… but he was in the dungeons when she awoke, and if she asked for him then he did not hear her. Instead he spent the following weeks with Auror after Auror while repeating the same story over and over again, tasting Veritaserum on his tongue and suffering through constant headaches while less than adequate investigators took memory after memory for their pensieves.

He'd done his duty afterwards, accepted the Order of Merlin in a private ceremony and nodding grimly instead of glowering. But she hadn't.

Severus knew now that Hermione had packed up and left not long after being given a clean bill of health. But he was unaware at the time, and there was not a small amount of formal functions that he'd attended just to see whether a familiar head of wild, brown curls would appear in the crowd, or if a slender hand found itself on his shoulder, bidding him to turn to greet her. She never came, of course, and with good reason, though it would only be years after the fact that he even knew that at all.

Now, Severus knew about every year that she'd spent away from England, away from him. He knew that she'd found a safe haven in Australia, he knew that she threw herself into her studies and took to it like a duck to water. For all that he'd said she had no instinctual knack for brewing, the war had changed that – now he had an idea that the books in her own collection would have little notes in the margins, just the same way that his own spidery script littered the tomes in the cottage. Hermione had let go of her restraints, in the way he'd wished her to but hadn't had the gall to suggest in the years that he taught her.

There was no such thing separating the two of them now. It was liberating, it was freeing. She was her own woman, and he had no authority over her, no power at all to _make_ her spend time with him. There were no expectations, no obligations. When she came to him, she did it on her own time, of her own accord. And when he thought of her, it was as a woman independent of him, a woman that he could spend time contemplating, pondering the mysteries of her, the ways she moved that enthralled him, the little things that made her _his_ Hermione. The age difference, surprisingly, barely entered into the equation at all. It did not matter – not to him. She was a vision; everything that he didn't understand that he wanted, in a package so small that she'd fit right under his chin if he could just hold her in his arms.

There was another part of her that enticed him, he realised as he looked around at the shelves of the apothecary. It was _this_ part – her knowledge, her intellect. That she'd done what he hadn't managed to in all of his forty five years; she'd gone her own way, on her own terms.

And, fuck – if a man couldn't find that irresistible in a woman, then that man's heart was dead and buried. It was quickly apparent that Severus couldn't reach the apothecary fast enough; he found that he was jogging down the street, eyes fixed on the faint glow from one of the windows on the second floor. Giving himself a second to catch his breath, he reached for the front door handle and pushed with a calmness that he did not feel.

He walked slowly through the store and forced himself to make contact with the two women staring agog, glad that he'd spoken enough about them with Hermione that he could remember to say Miss Brown and Mrs Potter instead of Witch One and Witch Two.

He climbed the stairs with the very secure knowledge that the eyes of his Hermione's friends were firmly fixed on the jeans he was wearing. He knew he looked ridiculous – Diagon Alley in Muggle clothing was a stupid idea, but Severus hadn't worn robes in five years. He wasn't even sure he could operate a full billow at this point in time anyway, considering there were only about seven more steps before he'd reach the door at the top of the stairs. With a deep breath, he closed the distance and raised his fist to knock with three firm raps.

~0~

Hermione blinked. "Severus! Oh, god!" _Shite!_

The man in question narrowed his eyes at the peephole and gave an exasperated sigh that she could barely hear through the door. "Yes… forgive me," he said shortly and turned on his heel. The disappointment on his face was jarring.

She looked down at her Ani D shirt and long silk pyjama pants that had, quite literally, been through wars. There was never a question about it – she could have weighed up the damage that she was about to cause to her previously moderately well-crafted appearance by the fact that she had flung her bra off the minute she'd walked in the door, then flicked her knickers in the corner and pulled on the pants not long after. Her hair was a mess, a veritable nest of knots and haphazard curls, and there had been no attempt to manage it since her shower earlier.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," she chanted, then flung open the door.

"Severus!" Hermione sagged against the doorway, relieved that he'd only made it a single step away from her door. He was resting a shoulder on the wall, hands in his pockets, staring at a mark on the wooden floorboard. He hadn't shaved that morning; she hadn't noticed it at his home, and his hair was long enough now that it obscured his expression yet he was smiling faintly when he looked up and saw her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, linking her fingers together so she wouldn't wring them. She wanted to make a self-deprecating remark but all she managed in the end was, "I'm so glad you're here! Really. I'm really glad."

Severus cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "You're sure?"

"Gods," she said immediately. "Of course. Now get in before someone sees me like this – I have a flawless and professional reputation to uphold."

His answering reply as he smirked and walked past her almost stopped her heart. "I don't think there's any cause for… _complaints._ "

"Right," she mumbled to his back, smiling at the way he made straight for the sitting room. It wasn't hard to find – the corridor was long and doors branched off it, and it opened out to an old kitchen that was so small she'd had to hang all the pots and pans overhead, and only a few steps away from that were two long couches that faced each other. The entire area was small enough that the one fire heated it; the one indulgence was the floor to ceiling windows that covered the back wall. Charmed, of course – the original flat was far too old for such a thing, but Hermione found that she rather liked having a view.

Severus paused at the end of the hallway, booted feet just before the edge of the thick cream Persian rug that she'd found in Western Sydney. It was large enough to cover the entirety of the sitting area. Looking at her over his shoulder, he toed off his boots and used his foot to push them against the wall before turning around to face her.

"I apologise for coming at such a late hour-"

She interrupted him with a wave of her hand as she approached him slowly. "It's only eight. I meant what I said – I'm glad you're here." Her tone was soft and, to her surprise, _sweet._ She certainly hadn't intended to flirt (oh sod it, of course she had!) and from the way he dipped his head, he hadn't expected it.

"Right," said Severus. "Well…"

Hermione sensed that her smile was possibly far too wide, given that it seemed that he had no clear way to explain why he'd felt the need to make his first foray into the Wizarding world for _her._ She herself was not on higher ground – she'd hardly been able to tear her gaze from his mouth since he walked in the door.

"Would you like…" she began hesitantly, padding down the hallway until she was close enough to see the darkening of his eyes, "would you like to stay? For dinner," she amended quickly. "And tea. And dessert. Something to drink, of course. And…"

"And?" He drew a little closer to her, as if curious by the way the words had halted. She watched his eyes move over her face, unsurprised by the tightening it evoked deep within her; what was she to think of him, of Severus? She knew what she _felt_ – there was no mistaking the reaction of her body. But what was she to _do_ about it?

Thinking furiously, she didn't notice when a cool pressure was placed between her eyebrows; her lids flew open to see that he was smiling down at her, index finger on the line that had emerged along with her self-doubt.

"Slow down," he suggested gently. "Dinner, tea, dessert, something to drink."

"Yes," she agreed eagerly, fixated on the way his finger trailed a short line down her nose to pause at her lips. It was too tempting – there was no avoiding it; she pressed a quick kiss to the tip, biting her lower lip when he inhaled sharply. "And a tour, too, I should think," she added. "But dinner first." She moved past him, giving in for a second to press closer to him than she needed to, and walked into the tiny kitchen. "Dinner first, yes?"

"Did you make something?" He walked over to stand on the other side of the wooden island underneath the hanging pots. "I would have brought something if I'd known you hadn't eaten."

"Oh," she flushed and shrugged. "Well… no. I have food, though. You see, you've come to my flat on a Saturday evening – the beginning of our little weekend. I have a time honoured tradition of having a very good quality meal for Saturdays."

"Do you now?" He leaned forward, palms on the wooden surface and smirked. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Bending down, she slid out a thin box and placed it on the island and with a flourish, turned to the fridge and pulled out two cool bottles. "Pizza and beer. Too fancy, do you think?"

"Clever girl," he said approvingly, hands already picking up the box that was still warm from the delivery wizard's stasis charm half an hour before.

She gave a little gurgle of laughter, looping her fingers around the heads of the bottles to hold them in one hand. "Clever girl?"

"Yes," he said, unabashed. "Very. Now lead me to the dinner table, furnished with fine linens and candles no doubt?"

"I'll do you one better."

Hermione led them back down the corridor to the door to her flat, though she opened a thick looking door to the right instead of leaving her home. "Follow me, if you dare," she said over her shoulder and went through the door, ascending the stairs while at the same time trying to stop herself from jumping up them thanks to the myriad of feelings that were swimming in her belly; happiness was chief, and so she gave in and skipped the last few. "Here we are."

The apothecary's greenhouse was a point of pride for her. Neville had spent one gruelling week before the opening to help source and adequately contain any plants she thought she might need, and she'd spent many nights here since. Situated on the roof, the walls and ceiling were clear, providing an uninterrupted view of the night sky and surrounding streets. Lavender, handy with charms work, had spelled the outer walls so that they reflected the view outside – the inside could not be seen from the flats of other inhabitants of the street, or by shoppers down below. The privacy meant that Hermione often found herself on the soft picnic blanket at the very end of the rooftop building and it was there that she led Severus to.

He was new to her, somehow. The ease with which he navigated the conversation was as comforting as it always was, yet now he combined it with touches that left her breathless. When he wandlessly removed the cap on the bottle and returned it, his fingers held onto her wrist, pulling slightly so they sat side by side, knees touching. After he told her of some of his more amusing youthful escapades, he let his palm rest on her knee; when he made to remove it, she covered his hand with hers and left it there. She wasn't sure how many hours they sat together talking, but she treasured each chuckle, each word that left his mouth. They summoned two more beers and the pizza box was gone with a wave of his hand.

"Hermione?" He was so close that the breath that escaped with his words tickled her ear. "Thank you," he said simply.

It was second nature to turn until they were facing, effortless to keep the weight of her hand on his so it stayed on her knee. She folded her legs beneath her until she was kneeling in front of him; their height difference meant that he was level with her, though he was sitting cross legged on the blanket.

"Whatever for? I should be thanking _you._ "

"Me?" He blinked, black eyes shining. "No. I don't think so. But _you…_ thank you for Draco. Thank you for _this."_

There was that word again. "This?" she questioned, painfully aware of how he swallowed and flicked his eyes to her mouth then back to her.

"All of this." He gestured around the greenhouse. "Inviting me in."

"You came to me," she reminded him. "You invited yourself."

"That I did," he acceded with a bow of his head, a smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. "Am I unwelcome?"

Hermione wasn't sure that she had any courage left – not after bringing him here, to the one place she'd had for herself alone. He was right – she'd invited him, and not just into her house.

Summoning whatever shred of stone she could find, she inched forward on her knees and spoke just loud enough to be heard over the faint sounds from the street below, "Would you mind at all if you knew just how much you _are_ welcome?"

His black eyes stayed on her lips. "I do not believe that I would mind at all," he whispered, not removing his gaze from her face as he took the cool, sweating bottle out of her hand and set it down without a sound. He leaned back until his palms were flat behind him, opening to her, inviting _her_ in.

She moved closer and raised a tentative hand, running her fingers lightly over his lips. They were soft to touch, and, just like hers, they parted slightly, letting the pad of her index finger sink into his lower lip. Risking a glance at his expression, she lost any remark that could have been conjured as she took in his half lidded eyes and dry mouth. Her breaths came faster, knowing now that he _wanted_ her but the touch of him sent a sharp shock through her; it was not enough. She pressed forward and brushed her lips with his, then withdrew, teasing though she did not know it.

Severus stayed where he was. Under the heat of his gaze, she leaned down and kissed him again, then pulled back. This time there was but a sliver of space between their mouths, and their breath mixed in the cool night air. She thought of doing it again – could there have been anything she wished for more in that moment?

~0~

He could _feel_ something stirring in her the third time she kissed him. It was exquisite – her pulse was racing, almost matching his. That _he_ did this to her… This time, this third time that he would file away and remember for years to come, struck flint and steel, sparking a fire within him that he was loathe to extinguish. He could not stifle the dark groan that left his lips as soon as her tongue slipped into his mouth, nor would his hands halt from heading to her hair until his fingers were buried in soft, wild curls.

The taste of her was rich; he had imagined her like this, in the darkness of the night in his cottage. The bitter tang of beer, the sweetness of her sugared teas, then something that was uniquely her – heavy and ripe.

She pushed until his back was against the wall and sat astride him, pausing only quickly to laugh in such a way that should have been wicked, sinful, forbidden. Then she was kissing him again, and all he could think was _fuck – her mouth, her mouth, her mouth – hips, waist, fuck, I can feel her_ there, _oh gods her mouth, fuck-_

This, Severus could do. Remembrance came swiftly – his hands knew to move to her waist, and his body knew that he wanted her closer and so it seemed logical to dig his fingers into the softness of her backside, coaxing her to grind against him.

Her kiss became demanding; her back arched, her breasts teased him when he realised that she wore no undergarments at all. He couldn't resist, he _wouldn't_ resist. After tugging on the hem of her slightly too big shirt, she nodded and pulled away from his mouth, her smiling face only disappearing for an instant while he pulled the cotton covering over her head.

"Oh, Hermione…" He almost _crooned_ her name, lost in letting his hands run up to palm her breasts, his eyes widening to see the already tightened nipples waiting to be touched. She was perfect.

"Exquisite," he mumbled, cupping each breast gently, becoming a schoolboy for just one second as he determined that they were small enough that one of his hands could cover one, and large enough that, no matter how ardently he applied himself to the task, they were less than a mouthful. Abandoning the measuring, he licked the scar that cut a jagged line down her middle.

"Oh – _oh,_ " her little sigh almost had him undone right there in the greenhouse, before she dove back to his mouth and slipped her warm hands under his jumper, making him hiss with pleasure to feel such soft little fingers on his skin.

"Stop, stop," he rasped, grabbing onto her hips and keeping her raised above him, snorting with black humour as she tried to overcome his grip to continue her undulations that were all too erotic for the greenhouse. Tonight, anyway. _Perhaps later…_

"Why?" She was petulant and delightful.

Now was better than ever. "It has been… oh, sod it – it's been a long time for me. Do you really think that you could do _this_ with me and that I could leave it at that?"

"No."

"No?"

"No," she reaffirmed. "I don't think so. I think I'll do _this_ with you, and then I'll want you to put me in your pocket and only let me leave for work or mundane things like the bathroom or a shower or burning our breakfast in the mornings."

Severus let his head fall back against the wall. "You wish for such things?" _With me?_

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Don't you?"

"No." He tightened his hold on her when she huffed, barely believing that he was the man that was lucky enough to have such a conversation with the beautiful witch in his arms. He'd eat burnt toast every day for the rest of his life if it guaranteed he'd have her beside him. He managed to chuckle and say, "I don't particularly want you to burn our breakfasts. And if you were in my pocket, you might hamper my billow. Tucked into my side, however…"

Light pink lips nipped at his throat, before she placed open mouthed kisses over his scars. "Then what _do_ you want?"

"Bedroom?"

The minx giggled at his question, then slammed down onto his lap. He gasped, pictured swatting at her pert little arse in revenge, but lost his train of thought when her arms snaked around him.

"What are you doing, little _temptress_?"

"Just a tiny trick," she answered, taking advantage of his mouth that was open in surprise to kiss him fiercely, swallowing his cry of shock when he felt himself falling – he would have flailed if they didn't crash onto the bed a second later.

"Well," he managed when his heart had stopped beating out a military tattoo, "that was clever."

"I'm a clever girl, remember?"

"Yes, I believe we covered that – oh, _fuck,_ Hermione!" The wanton little witch had vanished his clothes! He raised his upper body onto his elbows just in time to see her head of wild hair covering her face as her warm, sweet mouth engulfed him. "Oh, gods, woman, don't," he groaned, falling back onto the pillows. Later he'd inspect where on earth he was, but for now, no; now he was very much focused on the fact that there was a beautiful woman who had kidnapped him to her bed and seemed very intent on showing him just how much he was 'welcome'.

"Careful – I could get used to this," he confessed when her lips closed around him and _sucked._ The vibrations from her own enjoyment had his eyes rolling back in his head.

She released him with an audible pop, giggling at his half-hearted whine. "That's the point," she said darkly. "To show you everything you can have, so you will be used to it. You'll never want to leave."

"Oh? You do not wish for me to leave?" Fucking hell, he wished he had a wizarding camera – he wanted to see this every day: Hermione slowly stroking the base of his cock while her mouth was right next to it, speaking to him in low undertones that meant it was taking everything in his power not to jerk his hips towards her.

"I'll tie you here if I have to."

She returned to her self-appointed task with aplomb, reducing him to meaningless words when she licked him from base to tip, swirling her tongue around the head, her hands still moving, rolling his balls, curling around the rest of his cock. He could die now, and he'd die a happy man – an ecstatic man. It was that thought that brought his attention to a low tightening in his stomach, pushing through him, just about to-

"Stop!" He reached down and hooked his hands under her arms, pulling her around and under him on the bed. "Clever little witch," he said into her ear, letting his fingers splay possessively over her waist when she arched at the feeling of his breath on her neck. He made to slide down her body, to show her just how much he wanted to taste her, to feel her coming apart under his tongue-

"No," she said clearly, her tone deliciously commanding. "More."

"More?" He was already lining up with her entrance, letting his head glide over her clit. She hissed and dug her nails into his shoulders.

"More," she repeated. "More, more, _more_."

He was lost in the movements, completely ignorant of anything but his hands on her bare thighs, hearing his own low moan when he began to ease into her, gasping, gripping her arse. She opened her thighs, letting him lift her leg with his elbow, and both shivered with the feeling of consuming and _being_ consumed.

"Severus…" The pleasure was magnificent; her whispered moans would be the end of him. He pushed into her more firmly, only able to groan broken syllables until he was completely buried inside of her, seeing her eyelids flutter closed and a satisfied smile spread over her lips.

"Oh, gods, Hermione, I can't-"

He knew he could not last for her – _later, later –_ and so he shifted to give his fingers room to stroke her, rolling over her clit, moving in time with his thrusts. She clutched his waist, her hands sliding down to his hips, his arse, digging in to keep him hitting right _there_ , "Severus, please, gods, just – fuck!"

As if he were afire within her, he gently raised her hips higher, revelling in sinking into her over and over again as she ground down to meet him. He could _feel_ her tightening around him, could see her body stilling; her hands on his body became snares to willingly entrap him. It was too much too soon, but it was not long before he, too, was slamming into her heat, his fingers moving quicker on her clit, his mouth descending to lick and suck her nipples until she screamed beneath him. He couldn't hold it – he kissed her wailing mouth and held his breath until it came out in growls and shouts and finally, finally, he gave in to her and came with enough force that he lost his sight. He saw nothing but white spots, nothing but little glimpses of his Hermione, her sweat dampened skin and frizzy curls.

He sank down beside her to catch his breath, thrilling inwardly when he reached for her and found her arms already searching for him.

"Come here," he mumbled, using the last of his strength to tuck her into his side, where he wanted her always. "Terrible woman – now look what you've done. Perhaps I will have to put you in my pocket after all."

"Bugger your pocket," she grumbled, rolling until she was half on top of him and summoning a blanket to cover them both. Unbidden, a thought came to him that where she was now, her cheek on his heart, was giving him a pleasant, warm ache in his chest, something that felt a little bit like…

She turned to place a kiss on his skin. "Don't leave in the morning."

"You are overestimating me if you think that I would leave at all," he admitted, grinning into the darkened room when she giggled. He let his fingers trail lightly along her back.

"Good. I meant it. I'll tie you here if I have to. Just give me an hour to get my strength back and then you'll be here and you won't be able to do anything without my permission."

His treacherous cock twitched. "I am warning you, madam – such things may endear you even further to me. You might never get rid of me. You'll ruin me for all others."

"Then I shall endeavour to do such _things_ more often," she answered, smiling against his chest. Her breaths slowed and she burrowed closer until he turned his head to the side and held her tightly, committing to memory what it felt like to have his sweet Hermione in his arms, sated and falling asleep on him.

The thought was lost to him soon after and he too fell asleep, already knowing that he would always be unable to do so without the warm pressure of her body over his.

~0~

He woke alone. The pillow barely carried her scent and he sat up in alarm until he realised that his chest was still warm. She must have just left.

The bedroom window showed the dulling of the sky, hinting that it was an hour or two before dawn. A faint light came in through the door and he eased off the bed, shaking his head at the orange patch of fur at each corner of her white bedspread. Wherever her familiar was now, it wasn't here – perhaps it was off terrorising the neighbourhood. He looked around for his clothes, and then remembered she had vanished them. A quick glance around the room showed his jumper and jeans neatly folded on the windowsill.

Having pulled on the jeans, he padded down the hallway and followed the light and heat, stopping at the end to find her perched on a stool in front of one of the kitchen benches, a cup of tea beside her and a pen poised over what looked like a large stack of forms. He stayed there for a long time, taking in the curve of her neck, her little body covered by his grey cotton shirt that he'd been wearing under his jumper. His beautiful, tempting witch. Now that he had her, he didn't know how he had ever managed without her bubbling happiness, her easy smiles, and her simple affection.

The shirt came down to just past her hips, and he found that his eyes were drawn to her smooth, pale thighs peeking out from under the hem.

"You're staring, love," she said, head bent over the forms. He smiled at the domestic scene she made; _this_ was what he wanted. All of this.

He walked over and laid his hands on her shoulders, curling his fingers in and stroking across her back. "You work too hard."

"I couldn't get back to sleep," she replied. "We're going for another contract. The tender is almost done. Now that Draco's here, the possibilities are endless. And I missed you _horribly._ But you looked so sweet sleeping in my bed."

"Hmm." He shrugged and eyed the bench. Open below, it was exactly the right height for…

He crouched down and knelt under the bench, face to face with her lap. He couldn't see her face, perhaps he didn't need to for her shiver when he slid his hands up her thighs and parted them was more than noticeable. Slowly, he bent forward and pushed the hem of his shirt over her hips, baring her lower body.

He licked her from perineum to clit, revelling in her moan. The taste of her, the sweet and sour note on his tongue along with the cool traces of water from her shower, was intoxicating. He whispered everything he wanted to do to her, puncturing each word with a closed kiss to her folds until she dropped the pen and hissed; with her attention, he turned his mouth on her clit and suckled gently, bringing his hand up to slowly curl a finger inside her.

She came quickly, hands pulling on his hair and shrieks bouncing off the walls. Her work forgotten, she took his hand and led him back into the bedroom where she climbed astride him and sank down onto his length, riding his cock with total abandon until he howled.

He didn't ever want to be without her. Not anymore.

~0~

They had spectacular rows. It was to be expected, Hermione thought; they'd dived into each other with all the hesitation of teenagers. But even their arguments left her thinking of just how much she was falling in love with him.

He learnt that she could slam doors loud enough to burst through a silencing charm. He, in turn, grew so quiet that she once heard his thudding heart just after she'd growled at him for making an adjustment on a potion she had been working on.

In turn, they fought and pounced on each other afterwards with enough fury and passion that by the time they were lying together spent on the bed, apologies were made and much kinder words were exchanged.

They sent Sunday mornings together, just how he'd always wanted; both reading, Hermione tucked into his side with her feet up on wherever they found a spot that wasn't covered in books. He cooked unless it was Saturday night, which was reserved solely for pizza and beer. She cleaned, he helped her with orders for the shop and taught her how to say 'no' when she would've said 'yes' and worked late until the night. They certainly did not need the money.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, they would dance together in the sitting room of her flat, or the greenhouse upstairs. He accepted that she liked to make love to Nina Simone but drew the line when she gleefully played Jeff Buckley's 'Live at Sin-é' on full volume. On those nights, he Apparated to Hogwarts and got blindingly drunk with Minerva and Poppy, then toddled home to fall into bed next to his giggling woman. In turn, she danced around in one of his shirts to his INXS CDs, and buffed up his ego by swearing that Michael Hutchence did not even hold a candle to Severus Snape. In saying that, she took long, long walks around Conan's farm with the man himself and Maebh in tow when he worked on the potions for Hogwarts while blasting Janis Joplin.

He did his back in a few months after their first night together, having slipped on a red bra that she'd left on the floor near the entrance. He couldn't move for a week; he settled for berating her for the terrible habit of whipping off the restricting garments as soon as she walked in the door without any thought for anyone else but she shut him up quite effectively by vanishing his clothes and tying him to the bed before kneeling over him to suck his cock, placing her clit just above his mouth. He had the choice of either joining in or continuing in his snit. It was the best oral sex she'd ever had.

Sometimes they stayed in her flat, though she always spent Sundays and Mondays in his cottage. The four poster bed he'd nicked from Hogwarts became her favourite place, as it gave her two beautiful views: her lover's face above her, lost in ecstasy, and the sea roaring under the cliffs below them.

The worst night was when each confessed their dreams to one another. Hermione had thought it romantic, believing that it pointed to their souls and minds knowing what their bodies didn't: that they'd give each other closure and peace. Severus had stormed out of her flat and for once, flung her door shut with a bang. He broke almost all of the tumblers in the cottage, flinging them off the cliffs and calling out his curses into the storm that surged over his head. He wanted _her,_ without any interference from masters; he felt like he'd been on a leash, guided to her by something other than their own feelings.

She turned up at his gate the next evening with a knee length coat. When he walked out with an apologetic grimace and stood in front of her, she untied the coat and stood before him naked.

"This is me," she said, "as is. And there is nothing else that brought you to me, apart from _me_."

He gathered her up in his arms and took her into the cottage, kissed every inch of her skin and whispered his apology into her ear.

~0~

He came to enjoy helping her with the potions she was creating. Some nights would find him with Draco in the laboratory while Hermione nattered on at the blackboard, mostly to herself. Others were filled with wine and music, the two of them brewing late into the night. After the first time, he waved his godson out the door and fucked her on the bench, instructing her with a wicked smirk, "Keep the boots _on_ , please, love."

~0~

She took him to meet her parents and he almost fainted in the front yard. It was worse when he was dragged in for tea with Witch One and Witch Two – having learnt that they had a strange fascination with his arse, he was unnerved to see their eyes on the back of his jeans as if he was an object.

"It's flattering, darling," Hermione said one afternoon. "Besides – you do have an _amazing_ arse. You really do. It's a work of art. I'm a very lucky witch."

"Oh?" He thought for a moment, and then cast a stasis charm on the stew bubbling on the stove in her kitchen. "How do I know you're lucky, hm? Perhaps you should show me."

She took his suggestion to heart, though he hadn't quite meant for her to pleasure herself in front of him to display just how much she valued his… _attributes._ Not that he was complaining. He returned to the stew much later.

~0~

One year after he'd first turned up at her door, they drove along the Wild Atlantic Way. He booked the car and overrode the 'Fuck the Wizengamot' that appeared on the back window each time her little arse touched the driver's seat.

When she drove, he stretched his arm out to keep it behind her shoulders. He stared out at the coastline flashing by, the green hills rolling past. When he drove, she took hundreds if not thousands of photos and leaned out of the window so far that he thought she'd tilt the car. She unbuttoned his jeans and took him in her mouth; he pulled over to the side of the road and cast a quick charm to hide their terribly indecent activities, and fumbled until the seat pushed back, then pulled her into his lap, uncaring that her backside made the horn blow. The windows were full of steam by the time he came with a roar that rivalled the sea below.

He realised not long after that he truly loved her, this woman who was fearless and beautiful and smart, and he had loved her for what felt like years. When she murmured the same three words in return, he knew that he'd never smiled so much in his life.

~0~

Another year after that found him driving her around again. Hermione watched, perplexed, as he pulled over, got out of the car, strode to look at the view and then fell back into the driver's seat, grumbling unintelligible things under his breath.

"What are you _doing?"_ she asked when he did it for the third time. She didn't even bother to get out of the car, just waited for him to look once, glower, and then get back into the driver's seat.

"Nothing, it seems," he replied and glanced at her with two faint pink spots on his cheeks.

"Severus?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, intrigued as her lover guided the car back onto the road and scoured the coastline. She certainly wasn't about to ask him to stop; whatever he was doing meant that she could look at him and indulge in the chance to examine his profile for as long as she wanted. He was still beautiful to her; he wore his hair tied loosely back most days, and while he hadn't grown the beard back, his cheeks were often rough, all the better to graze on her bare skin. There were a few new streaks of grey amongst the coal black strands of hair, and he wore thin black glasses to drive. Hermione would have been hard pressed indeed to find a time when he had been _more_ attractive. She clenched her thighs together; surely such feelings were meant to have worn off by now? They hadn't – two years since he'd first been in her bed, and she was still reduced to a wet, wanting mess half of the time and a very gentle simmer for the rest.

"I'm _looking_ for something," he ground out between his teeth.

"Looking for what? It's all mostly the same…" It wasn't, but he rewarded her cheek by rolling his eyes and laying a hand on her thigh.

"The same to you, perhaps," he said. "But I'm giving up. You'll just have to make do with what I have."

"What?"

He ignored her and hours later the old four wheel drive rumbled up the last hill and came to a stop in front of his cottage. She waited while he circled the car and opened her door, accepting her kiss with a smirk of his own.

"What do you have planned, Severus?"

"Hm? Me? Nothing, love."

They sent the bags into the cottage and he tugged on her hand until they both stood near the edge of the cliff. The view always took her breath away, and today was no exception – for once the sky was a pale blue with barely a cloud to be seen. The wind was warm and gentle, but her curls, much longer now, still managed to whip around and splay themselves over her lover's back.

Severus stared out at the ocean, then back at her. His thin black eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was examining her like the potions they now made together.

"Hermione…" He ran a hand through his hair, and then set his shoulders with a nod. She arched an eyebrow when he turned to her and took both of her hands within his grasp.

"What?"

Another man might have written a speech, or tacked together flowery words until they resembled something from a badly written film. Not her man; not her Severus.

"I'd like to say… No. I would like to ask..." He looked away, then back at her, resolve hardening his black eyes. "Oh, fuck it. Be my wife, Hermione. Marry me."

She burst into laughter, her head thrown back into the wind. "Since you asked so nicely!" she cried, giggling like a mad woman when he swore again and grinned before he let out a loud, disbelieving laugh. There was always going to be only one answer. She had known it from the minute she'd met him again, the very first time her feet had touched the land just steps away from where they stood now.

"Yes, yes, _yes!_ "

.

.

.

fin.


End file.
